The Divinity Games
by hasitsclaws
Summary: Twenty-four go in; one comes out a God. For Kore Hagne, it's a death sentence when her name is drawn as tribute. She must leave behind all she knows, forced into an arena where she'll have to fight to the death under watch of the entire nation. The Divinity Games are filled with lies, fear, and something Kore never thought she would find: the chance at freedom. Set in HG universe.
1. A Narcissus Flower

Title: The Divinity Games

Rating: T, soon to be M for violence, language and other adult themes

A Greek Mythology / Hunger Games crossover

**A/N:** This fic takes place in the Hunger Games universe, though no characters from the series are directly involved; many are emulated. Names of places and events have been changed to fit the Greek myths theme. If anything seems unclear, or you have any questions in general, feel free to ask me. Happy Divinity Games!

Disclaimer: I own no material of the Hunger Games, nor the myth of Hades/Persephone or any other Gods in this fic.

* * *

"_One has to pay dearly for immortality;_

_One has to die several times while one is still alive_,"

Friedrich Nietzsche.

* * *

I wake to the sound of starjars, eyes bleary from the dreams Morpheus is said to have brought me while I slept. There's a dull pounding in the back of my skull– a crick in my neck.

My little brother, Arion, sleeps soundly next to me. It would take the rising of the dead to stir him. Either that or the whole town blowing to pieces. I shake my head; push his hair out of his eyes. He ninnies a bit, worrying his thumb between his teeth. In a few months he'll be three– we have to break him of the habit before his teeth turn bucked.

I stretch my arms over my head and pull the covers back, the chill of spring in my spine. Slowly, I move to the end of the bed and grab my boots from where they sit, toes pointed out. My younger sister, Despoina, says this keeps fairies at bay. She and our mother sleep soundly in the bed next to the one Arion and I share, both snoring. She looks most like Mother out of all of us, now that Plutus is gone.

Sighing, I stick my tired feet into my boots and strip of my nightdress, donning a soft patch of fabric cut to resemble the chitons of the capital, tying a strip of leather chord around my waist. Helios has barely brought the sun to the horizon, but that doesn't mean the shop can stay closed. On Altar Day everyone is desperate during mornings, rushing to get last-minute necessities in time for the ceremony.

You would think that they'd be more interested in clothes and accessories, not produce, but the numbers flocking in often surprise me.

Yawning, I spray on some of the perfume Mother makes from the fruits in our garden out back. It's too citrusy for my liking, but beggars can't be choosers. Baths aren't common here during the colder months, and it's not decent to smell rancid when you have paying customers. I can endure the overplay of tangerines and lemons for the sake of business.

We live above the small shop my mother owns just outside of the town square. We sell vegetables and fruit from the garden we have in the backyard, and the occasional pesky rabbit I manage to snare when they go picking around the cabbages. I spend most of my year helping my mother in the shop, and doing favors around town for trade. But for the harvest seasons, I'm in the field. Every able body is, from the time of six to the age of fifty-three.

Most people only live to see forty-five, if they're lucky.

Our apartment above the shop has three rooms– the sleeping quarters, sitting area and kitchen. Go down the stairs and you automatically enter the storage hall of the shop. I part the curtains and walk out onto the main floor, moving behind the counter to make sure we have enough bagging supplies.

Normally, Despoina and I would be headed to school right now. We'd stay there for three hours until going to the fields to weed them before plowing season. But everyone has Altar Day free from school and fields duties.

It's the only break we get during the year, unless the weather's too extreme. After all, there's a reason forty-five is the lucky mark. My mother says she doesn't remember Plutus' father– a drunken experience at a young age makes for trouble, as she likes to state– but she and I know mine only made it to thirty. Despoina and Arion's made it to forty-three.

Plutus made it to seventeen himself, but he didn't die in the fields.

So far I've managed sixteen and a half years. Two more and I won't have to enter for the Divinity Games anymore and my chances of survival will be a little higher.

It's said that having your name pulled for the Divinity Games is an honorable thing, but secretly everyone outside of the Capital agrees that it means death. The Games are a ploy of fame and riches, when really they were made to trample upon hopes of rebellion in the Republics.

After the nation of Elláda formed, there was an uprising in Republic Dekatría against the unjust ways of the Capital, which lets its citizens in the republics starve to death, and works them until they're dead. The Capital bombed Dekatría was bombed to the ground for their outburst.

Ever since then two tributes– a male and female– from the ages of twelve to eighteen have been taken from the remaining twelve republics and forced into an arena to fight to the death. All of it is televised in reminder to everyone what rebellion causes.

But see, the thing that makes them such an "honorable" game is that the last person left standing is then venerated as a God in their own right, forever made immortal in the history books with their own temple of worship and claim to rule of some concept.

Last year a girl from Republic Pénte won. Her name is Athena Pallas, and she's been acclaimed as the Goddess of wisdom, warfare and reason because of the way she outsmarted the other competitors with her wit. They've just finished building her temple in the Capital, presenting it to her on national television during her Victory Tour. She's wise, fierce and beautiful, but the thing that strikes me most about Athena is that her eyes hold a secret, and you can also see it in the corner of her mouth when she smiles…

I'm pulled from my thoughts by a soft knocking on the store's front door. I look up and find Charon's excited face. He motions for me to unlock the door and I move to do so, smiling back at him. As soon as the door's open he rushes in. I turn the _closed_ sign to _open_ and shut the door softly.

"Morning, Kore!" he chirps happily.

Charon's a short boy, with wild blonde hair and sparkling midnight eyes. He's been my best friend since we were very small, always holding a bright smile despite his family's morbid profession of preparing bodies before burial. Today his smile holds hints of anxiety though, and I don't have to ask to know what it's from.

He holds out a wicker basket toward me. "My mother made some fresh butter this morning, and some rye bread. She wanted to trade for some of your pomegranate preserves."

I nod, moving behind the counter to get a jar for him. "Are you nervous?" I ask, even though we both know he is.

"Yeah," Charon says anyways, paling in the coming light of dawn. "Are you?"

I swallow, glance to the patrons walking tiredly on the street. "Not really."

We don't say anymore on the subject. Instead I trade Charon history notes from school, and give him a recently picked apple from the trees in the orchards. I haven't been to them myself in a long time– I'm too heavy to make it to the tops of the branches– but Despoina frequently works there and always brings back treats for us.

We're halfway through a conversation about the comical antics of one of classmates during an algebra test, when someone pulls back the curtain from the storage hall. I look over my shoulder to see my mother, staring at Charon suspiciously. He knows it too– jumps from where he's leaning against the counter and stumbles over himself, heading toward the door.

"Morning, Ms. Hagne. I was just on my way out. Hope you have a nice day. I'll uh, see you at the Altar Kore!" And he's gone, the bell above the door _ding_ing after him.

I look back to my mother slowly, taking in her aging face and faded honey hair. People say she used to be beautiful, but years in the fields and two dead husbands have taken their toll on her. Not to mention Plutus' death. It's only short of a blessing that she fractured her hip when birthing Despoina and doesn't have to work in the fields anymore, instead manning the store and treating the wounded to fill her days. She'd be dead by now without that injury.

"What?" I ask after a moment, because she's staring at me expectantly.

Her lips pull into a scowl, gold eyes crinkling. "You spend an awful lot of time with that boy, Kore."

"He's a friend," I say.

"A friend, hmm," she asks, speculate.

"Mom, it's not like that."

"Does he know this?"

"He's _gay_," I say, enunciating the word. "He likes guys, Mom. And in case you can't remember, I don't identify myself as male. I'm sound in my identity that I'm a girl. There's no worry of me getting pregnant, or something."

"_Kore_! Go upstairs and eat breakfast before you get into trouble"

"Well it's the truth," I say, brushing past her to grab the basket Charon brought and walking toward the stairs. "I'm still your little maiden."

* * *

Once I have Arion and Despoina fed, it's time to clean them up for when we have to go to the Altar. Because Despoina is only ten, and Arion not even three, I am the lone child in the family that will have to wait in the roped sections and worry over whether or not my name is picked.

I'm grateful for it.

The thought of my baby siblings fighting for their lives in some savage arena is disorientating.

But luckily my name is only in the drawing as much as it has to be. Because our garden almost always seems to be plentiful, I didn't need to enter more for Sacraficials, like bread and oil. Plutus never had to either.

The shop's minimal success also means I'm not the starving willow vine that most children in Republic Énteka are. I'm round in the bosom, whaspy in the waist like my mother. My hair is full and wavy, a honeysuckle gold with hints of strawberry. I have my father's leafy eyes, and freckles from the sun. I'm not really pretty– don't look enough like my mother– but I'm strong and substantial and a lot of men flirt with me because they know I would make a good mother. The Hagne women have always been known for their matronly ways. I think that's why Mother worries so much about me getting pregnant young, like she did with Plutus.

"Kore, look!" Despoina says while I'm brushing through her golden hair, damp from her recent bath. She's been digging around in the basket Charon left, and pulls out a shiny charm from it, handing it back toward me.

"Oh," I say, looking at it. The charm is in fact a pin– shaped like a narcissus flower. I finger it carefully; the dulled onyx edges are warm from Despoina's hand. "Pretty."

"You should wear it today!" Despoina says excitedly, turning around in my lap. "It'd look so nice with your chiton!"

I smile at her, patting her head. "Okay, but first we have to finish getting you and Arion ready."

Downstairs I hear someone enter the shop, loud bartering over a squirrel for a sack of potatoes. My mother better not take it– the guy's trying to rip her off. I'm just about to yell the fact down to her when Arion toddles over to me, having heard his name just seconds before. He falls against my side with an _umph_; he's got legs like a colt and has never been steady on them. Despoina and I laugh at him as I pick him up and stand, swinging him around.

"Well hello little pony," I tell him, sitting him down on the bed. "Are you ready for your bath?"

"Nu-uh," he says, shaking his chestnut head. I give him a stern look, and he begins to pull a face that means he's going to cry.

"Oh no, no, no," I say, bopping him on the nose with my finger. "None of that."

I manage to get him in the bath with little fuss, though there are some tears. Despoina helps me wash him, and then dress him in a blue robe that has horses stitched into the fabric. He loves horses, so this makes him content to sit and work on a flowered crown with Despoina while I bathe by myself in the sitting room.

By this point our old stove is a bit worn out, so the water's cold. I sit in it and scrub until my skin turns red; washing my hair a couple of times with the ivory soap we save for Altar Day. Afterward I stand until the water's dried, then dress in a pale chiton, tying it off with a strip of gold ribbon and draping the extra fabric over one shoulder. Despoina fusses then, pinning the narcissus to my chest and making me let her comb my hair and weave the flower crown into it.

Mother joins us at last, watching in mute silence as Despoina finishes with my hair. She used to be a very cheerful woman, but between two dead husbands and a dead son Mother's happy demeanor diminished. She's still very loving, don't get me wrong, but she is also very distrusting of the world and way too overprotective. If it were up to her we'd all be locked in a shatterproof box and only let out for essential sunlight exposure.

Arion waddles over to her, saying, "Up," and grabbing out with his hands. Mother does so without complaint, rocking the toddler on her uninjured hip. He giggles and blows a spit bubble. Half the time people mistake him for an infant, but that's to be expected as the doctor said he was born a bit slow.

I grab one of the flowers out of Despoina's hand and tuck it behind her ear. "I can't have all the poppies to myself," I say.

Biting her lower lip, she suddenly leaps to hug me in a tight embrace. "Don't leave," she says.

I laugh. "Desi, I'm not going anywhere." I look to Mother who has a sharp eye on me, worry written in the wrinkles of her face.

A stark fear invades my chest, and I look down at my hands, the scars there from weeding thorn bushes in the fields. Stubbornly, I try to shake the worry off. Today is just another Altar Day. They happen every year. My name is in no more than necessary, unlike some of the poorer kids on the west side of town. Everything will be okay. After the drawing I will come home and eat strawberries and cream as I do every year. Tomorrow I will go to school, and weed the fields and maybe not get sunburned, if I'm lucky.

Everything is fine.

We walk to the town square silently, my family and I. Everyone is already gathering, the teenagers filing into their respective roped sections. I give Mother a kiss and pat Despoina's head, waving to Arion when he calls my name as I join the other girls in our section. I'm not very friendly with any females my age– too quiet half the time for any of them to spark interest and be my friend. The only person that I really talk to my age is Charon, but he's in the boys' section and I can't even see him to point out I'm wearing his pin.

Doesn't matter, because by now Republic Énteka's escort, Iris Arco, has stepped onto stage. She's tall and regal, with dark skin patterned in sparkling dust. Her hair is the colors of the rainbow, as are her clothes and claw-like nails. For an escort, she isn't too awful, but she is very outlandish and outspoken, which isn't often found around our Republic.

The Guards here are some of the toughest ones. Forget having your tongue cut out for speaking out of term– the usually just whip you to death.

_Like Plutus…_

I shake my head, try to listen as Iris says, "Welcome, welcome! Is everyone ready for another exciting year of the Divinity Games? A chance at honor, _immortality_."

I remember when we were younger, watching recaps of Altar Day on the television, Pluto would always imitate Isis, making his voice unusually high and adding in the snippy Capital accent. "_Immortality_," he would say. "_And the chance to get stabbed in the ass with a knife_."

A small smile flashes on my lips for a moment, but just because Isis is already moving on with the program. She introduces the mayor and he gives the same speech he gives every year, about how it's an _honor_ to fight for your country, and what _glory_ it means to win. He tells us we all have a small chance of becoming a God, that _divinity_ awaits.

More like imminent death or a life of bending to the will of the Capital, as Plutus would say.

A video rolls about the rebellion of Dekatría, chaos in the streets. Some people run, while others fight each other in malice, blood leaking everywhere. The scene switches to a now desolate wasteland that was once one of the Republics. All that is left is ruins, moss growing over broken buildings and battered bones.

The announcer in the video is saying that without the Capital's imposed destruction of the Republic chaos would have ensued in all of Elláda. The announcer says we must have order to live in peace, and that is why we have the Divinity Games every year. They are chaos the Victor must learn to control; they are a form of order within the Republics, a tradition that withstands.

And if you are to be the lucky winner, then in your own right you win the title of a God because of you valor in the face of chaos.

I hold my breath when images of past Victors take over the screen, tired faces, some dead, some alive.

Suddenly President Cronus appears and tells us all, "_May the Fates be ever in your favor_."

The screen cuts to black and Iris comes up to the podium again, teeth shining in the stage lights. "And now," she says, "let us see who our lucky tributes are!"

This is the time where everyone holds their breath.

She turns to the giant crystal bowls behind her that contain the names of every eligible boy and girl in the Republic, mutters something about _ladies first_ and sticks her posh hand in, digging and digging until a simple slip is grasped in her palm.

She opens it.

She reads the name.

For a moment, the entire world stops.

I think about my father, dying before I could ever truly know him. I think about Plutus, writhing on the kitchen table in agony as we tried to treat his lashes. I think about Despoina, who's on the cusp of working in the fields until her skin burns bare. I think about Arion, who may never have a chance in this cruel place. I think about my mother, too fragile to lose another child.

It would kill her.

_ I'm_ going to kill her, I realize.

Everyone's eyes are on me; they're waiting for my first move. Will I scream? There isn't enough breath in me for that. Maybe I'm going to faint instead? But no, my feet are moving, carrying me forward toward the stage, the Altar.

I have become a sacrifice.

Because the female tribute of Republic Énteka is Kore Hagne.

The female tribute of Republic Énteka is _me_.

* * *

**a/n:** Thank you to everyone for reading. Please feel free to review!


	2. Your Last Name's Hagne

I don't remember what happens after my name is drawn. When I watch the recaps of it on television, it seems like I am not the girl who walks up onto the stage somberly. I am not the girl who stands there in front of my entire Republic with faraway eyes and a rigid posture. I am not the girl who listens in mute silence as the name of a twelve year old boy– _Pan Pastures_– is drawn for male tribute, his little legs shaking as he joins me on stage, crying as he shakes my hand.

The cameras pan out, music playing in the background as the television screen moves on to Republic Dódeka. The escort flashes on screen, wild blue hair and a confetti cracked smile.

I stand up then, walk numbly out of the train car and to my assigned room. The bed is bigger than half of the space, with silk sheets. I throw myself upon it.

After the drawing we were taken to the temple in the middle of town. The Guards allowed us to see our loved ones before we boarded the train headed to the Capital. My mother came in with Arion and Despoina. She didn't say anything. Arion didn't understand what was going on. Despoina was the only one who spoke. She told me I had to win, that I had to come home so we could plant the strawberry bushes together in the garden for summer. I told her I would try my best, to keep my shoes' toes turned out so the faeries would stay at bay.

She cried.

I didn't.

My mother let me hug Arion goodbye. She gave him to Despoina and told her to leave. Despoina did. Mother grabbed my shoulders then, pushing me back for inspection. Her gaze was hard, mouth turned down at the corners. And then she said, "You do whatever you have to– you come home."

"Mom," I began, but she cut me off.

"I mean it, Kore. I will _not_ lose my daughter. Not you. I will drag this world through _Hell_ if you are gone, I will." Her face was stoic, completely serious. "You are not a starving child who breaks at one foul swoop. You are strong, and you know how to use your hands."

I nodded, swallowing something like fear in my throat. "I'm going to have to kill someone, aren't I?"

"If you want to win," she said. "Do not think of them as people. Think of them as rabbits, invading the garden. They will kill the life that grows there. You must get rid of them. Make them think of you as a flower, Kore. Something precious and demure. But remember, my Kore, even the most beautiful of blooms can be deadly."

The guards took her away then, my mother giving me one last glance before the door shut behind her. I sank down into one of the plush chairs in the room, covering my face with my hands. I didn't expect anyone else to come in, but then the door opened. Charon stumbled past the guard there, rushing over to me and pulling me into a tight hug. The first words out of my mouth when he pulled away were that I was wearing his pin. He said I had to keep it, to wear it for luck.

I nodded.

He hugged me again and told me I could do this; he would be rooting for me. After he was taken away I was alone. Iris came to escort me to a car within the next ten minutes, and along with her and Pan we boarded the train that is to take us to the Capital.

It's bigger than I would have thought, endless cars decorated with lush fabrics and an abundance of rich foods. I tried a scone for the first time today. I nearly choked on it. I wish it would have just killed me. Saved the other tributes the trouble.

I'm so busy moping face down on the bed in my train car that I don't hear the knock on the door. The person lets themselves in, which I am aware of and turn to see a pair of deep eyes on me. The man is tall and broad, in his late thirties with tanned skin and dark hair. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. Prometheus Manthano. God of intelligence, humanity, and fire. He won the games the last year my mother's name was in the drawing.

We never see him around Republic Énteka anymore, even if he has a worship room in the main temple there. He chooses to live instead in the Capital. Usually he isn't the mentor for the tributes either. There aren't many winners from Énteka, but enough that Prometheus can stay in the capital while the Games are going on. Typically.

"Kore isn't it?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe without a care in the world.

I clear my throat and nod. "Yes, sir."

A dark chuckle slips past his lips and he walks into the room, shutting the door behind him. I startle at this. I've never been alone in a room with a man before. Besides Charon, but he's too much my friend to ever make my nerves spike the way Prometheus just has.

He sits on the edge of the bed without invitation and I recoil, tucking my knees into my chest as I lean back against the pillows.

"It's not sir," he says. "Just call me Prometheus, please."

"Okay," I say, my voice sounding small.

For a moment, there is silence in the room. Prometheus studies me, takes in the odds and ends with a professional sort of eye. I begin to grow even more uncomfortable, wanting to cower but something in me says I have to tough the anxiety out. I keep my knees pulled up, but jut my chin out defiantly, meeting Prometheus' gaze when he finally looks at my face. This seems to please him, gives a sound nod to me and reaches into the back pocket of his trousers to take out a pack of rolled cigarettes.

He puts one in his mouth, offers the pack toward me and I shake my head. I've smoked before, of course. Nearly all the field workers adore tobacco. But it isn't my favorite thing in the world. I always preferred poppy shots instead, even if they are a bit more dangerous.

Prometheus takes my refusal in silence, producing a matchbox from the breast pocket of his shirt. "You mind?" he asks, to which I shake my head. He strikes the match and lights the cigarette, taking a puff before blowing a smoke ringlet into the room. "Once the stylists clean you up a bit, you'll be pretty," he says, all business about the compliment. "You got some big eyes on you, kid– use 'em."

"I can cry on command," I say, many years of experience from trying to get Plutus in trouble when he pissed me off.

Prometheus smirks, blowing another puff of smoke. "Good. I don't think you should go all-out with it, but during the interviews when they ask about your family, get glassy eyed."

Blinking, I look down at the bedspread, leaf patterns swirled into the silk. Not five minutes ago I was wishing I would have choked to death on a pastry at dinner, and now I'm sitting here with one of the most famous Victors in history, a _God_ no less, discussing strategy plans like they're the weather. Hysteria bubbles in my chest, absolving into a fit of giggles.

Prometheus looks at me as if I've grown a second head. "Hey, kid, I can't work with crazy."

I laugh even harder at that, doubling over on myself. "I'm not– I'm not crazy. I just, I–_ ha_. I can't _believe_ this is happening!"

Sighing, Prometheus dashes out the cigarette on his boot, marring it. He probably has countless pairs just like them at home, but they're expensive leather so I cringe a bit at the act. "Well," he says after a moment. "It's happening."

I shake my head, wiping my hand across my eyes which are watery from laughing. "Yesterday I was weeding the fields and eating half-rotten fruit. Now I'm headed to my death and tasting _ambrosia_ for Gods' sake. It's awful, by the way. How can you stand the sweetness?"

"It serves the purpose for when you want to get shitfaced pretty well."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, fingering the narcissus pin on my chiton. There are fresh clothes in the nightstand just across the room, but the silk of them is too fine. I'd feel too out of place in them.

"Listen," Prometheus says after a moment. "I wasn't supposed to mentor this year. It was supposed to be Tethys, but I subbed in."

"Why?"

"Your last name's Hagne."

"So?" I ask, staring at him suspiciously. "My mom never got rid of her maiden name when she married."

"I know," Prometheus says. "Demi's pretty proud of the family name, always has been."

"How do you know my mom's name?" I ask, suddenly standing from the bed. "I never said it."

"I know," he repeats, remaining seated all calm and cool. "You didn't have to. I've known Demi since we were kids… Last time I saw her was before my Games. She was pregnant then– we'd just found out three days earlier."

"You mean you…" My vision becomes hazy and I sway on my feet. "Oh, this is just lovely... What a nice joke, there. You and my mom–" I start laughing again, shaking my head in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"No," Prometheus says.

"Prove it, then. What's my mom's full name? My sibling's name? Their birthday?" Surely this is all some kind of hallucination. Maybe I really did choke on that scone and this is the scenario the lack of oxygen to my brain came up with.

"Your mother's full name is Demeter Sito Hagne. She's thirty-seven. She was born in August, but no one remembers the exact day because there was a thunderstorm and no one could tell if it was night or day. Your _brother_'s was Plutus Iason Hagne. He would be nineteen on the tenth of June. His first word was 'bobbit' and he could do a backflip by the time he was five."

The world spins a bit.

I sit back down on the bed, folding my hands in my lap. And the first thing I can think to say is, "So Mom does remember who Plutus' father is, I take it."

"Yes," Prometheus says, smoothing his hair away from his face. Plutus used to do that a lot. "She wrote to me about him, when the baby arrived. I was on my Victory Tour, and we both agreed that, well, it was better the world didn't know I had a child. The Capital wouldn't have liked that very much…

"Back in my days I was often…_wanted_. It was a hefty price the Capital was not willing to give up, and a guy attached to a child, well then I'd have to settle and lose the playboy appeal. They wouldn't like that. So your mother and I agreed to keep the kid a secret. She married your dad after that– good guy. I always did like him."

"You know Plutus is dead, don't you?" I ask before I can help myself.

Prometheus' face turns somber. "Yes. Had I been able to help, I would have. I wanted to send money, but the Capital would have traced the transactions… I managed a few gifts on his birthday, though. When he was younger."

"So you're where he got the damned ram from?"

"I take it you didn't appreciate the gift?"

"No," I say, frowning. "Kriophoros bit me all the time, and butted me… But Plutus adored him."

Prometheus smiles, taking another cigarette from his pocket. He lights it, watching as the match burns itself out toward his fingers. The fire doesn't even faze him as it touches his skin. I know it's because he barely has any feeling in the nerve endings of his hands. Or arms. The Capital was able to salvage basic mechanic feelings, but other than that the nerves are dead.

During Prometheus' Games, the arena was nothing but a dying wasteland of forest. All of the plants had dried to a crisp, and when the last five tributes were left, Prometheus set the entire place on fire. He'd grabbed a pack at the beginning of the Games that had a basic sterilizing agent for wounds in it, which he doused a clump of dead thistle bushes with before throwing a match on it. I don't think he'd anticipated the explosion being as big as it was, though. It burnt his hands up pretty well, but not bad enough he couldn't make it to the lake nearby as the arena went up in flames.

Almost all the other tributes died far away from him, except this big, brutish guy who made it to the edge of the lake before collapsing. He was screaming and burning and begging to be put out of his misery. And Prometheus, by some miracle, got out of the lake and strangled the kid so he wouldn't have to burn alive. No one understands how he could do it when his hands were so messed up from the explosion, but he did, even while gagging on the smoke. It's how he twistedly earned the title of God of humanity– not letting that kid suffer. Earning title over fire is self-explanatory. Intelligence is given to most Gods who find a crafty way to kill their opponents.

I take the moment of silence between us to study him a little more. He looks like Plutus, or rather Plutus looked like him. They both have the same blue eyes, and cowlick at the front of their hair. Plutus' teeth were a bit large, like Prometheus's. And their build is much the same. I wonder if Plutus ever even had any idea his father is a God…?

I ask exactly that, catching Prometheus off guard. He shakes his head, dragging on his cigarette for a long while. "Wasn't gonna let him think I didn't want him," Prometheus says. "I loved your mother, kid. I would've loved your brother too, were it safe."

"So every time Plutus said the Capital was full of crooks, he was right?"

Prometheus shrugs nonchalantly, blows a perfectly shaped ring with the smoke. "It's full of phonies, really. The people wouldn't know life if it hit them in the face with a cleaver. The real bastards are the political guys. They're all about money and power and _order_. Wouldn't want their precious titles stripped away if the Republics didn't listen, would they?"

"Should you even be saying that?"

"No," Prometheus says, pulling the cigarette away from his lips. I take the opportunity to quickly grab it from his hand and take a drag, if only to give some kind of hit to my senses. I've known this man for twenty minutes and already I've found out he's my brother's father, and he doesn't trust the very people who worship him. At least it's nice to know where Plutus got his bitter side from.

Prometheus raises a brow at my move. I just take another drag and try not to cough. This tobacco is more processed than the natural kind I'm used to, even if the cigarettes are hand rolled. "So you volunteered as mentor because you and my mom had a thing, and, my brother. What's that really got to do with me, though?"

"I'm not letting Demi's kid get killed," he says softly. "Not another one."

"So you think I can win this?" I laugh, moving to stamp the cigarette out on the nightstand. Technically it's property of the Capital, so I don't really care if I ruin it. "Apparently you don't know me then."

"Oh, but I know you very well, Kore. Your mom didn't just write to me about Plutus, she wrote about you too."

"She wrote you?"

"Disguised it as fan mail. Easy enough to get past the Capital, since I get tons of it."

I nod, looking down. "What'd she say about me, about Plutus?"

"She said Plutus was just like me and that you beat the shit out of him every chance you got."

Irrationally, I blush. Plutus was Prometheus' son after all. I feel kind of bad, to know his first impression of me was beating the crap out of his kid. "He deserved it."

"Well if he was just like me, of course he did. Your mother gave me a couple of good whacks every now and then, believe it or not," Prometheus laughs, gaze far off.

"Oh, I believe it," I say, remembering all of the times she's spanked me for misbehaving. Smacked me a good few instances too.

"I can see her in you," he says. "Can see your dad, too."

My blush from earlier turns into a full out flush. What I do remember of my father was that he was very funny, and adventurous. Many people have told me he was a good man, and Mother says he always treated her right, and treated Plutus like he was his own son. It wasn't even until Plutus and I were much older that we found out we didn't actually share a father.

"So you're going to help me win," I say, looking Prometheus in the eye. "How do you expect to do that?"

"Your mom said you're in the wheat fields a lot– you know how to use a scythe?"

I nod.

"Good," he says. "When you go in for evaluation with the Gamesmakers, use it. Intimidate the competition. You've got Demi's smile, too. Use it. Show enough charm and you'll have the sponsors falling at your feet. You're going to have allies when you're in there, too."

"I am?"

He nods, a secret smile at the corners of his mouth. "The twins from Ennéa. They're you're friends until it's just the three of you left."

"How do you know?" I ask, suspicion leaking into my words.

"I'm friends with their mentor– Atlas. We have a mutual cause we need to keep you guys together for…"

"But what about the others?"

"Kill them," Prometheus says simply. "You're small– you should be fast. Your mom said you're fast."

"I am," I say. I used to win all the races I ran in school, even got a trophy for it in my ninth year. "I know how to set snares, too."

"Good," he says. "If there are trees, you wanna get up in them. Can you climb?"

"Yeah, but I'm not light enough to get to the top."

"Doesn't matter. The only people who are this year are the kids, but there's only three of them, and one's in the other car yonder. Stay away from him."

"Why?" I ask. In the small interactions I have had with him, Pan seems like a scared little kid, not a threat.

"I don't trust him," Prometheus says. "He'll turn on you the second he can."

I let my lips settle into a thin line, not really believing him, but still cataloguing away his advice. "Okay."

For the next twenty minutes, Prometheus and I discuss tactics, until there's a knock at the door. Isis lets herself in demurely, smiling a megawatt at Prometheus. "Oh, I didn't know you'd boarded, my Lord. I haven't felt the train stop!" She eyes the close proximity Prometheus and I share on my bed.

Prometheus stands, giving me a long look to say a word of our conversation doesn't leave the room. I nod minutely. "It didn't," he says in answer to Isis. "A hovercraft dropped me on the roof."

"My!" Isis says after him as he walks out into the hallway. She follows, whatever reason she originally came into my room for forgotten. "You never cease to surprise me!"

As Isis shuts the door behind herself, I lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.

Well then.

My mother had sex with a God. My brother was the son of a God. My mentor is a God. He's going to try and keep me alive because he _owes it_ to my mom. He didn't have to say I was kind of like second best in the Demi's kid to save division since he couldn't save Plutus– didn't have to. I could see it in his eyes every time I said Plutus' name. Things would probably be better if I had been in my brother's place last year. He'd have a lot better chance at winning that I do.

But, I have allies.

Or so Prometheus says.

Gods, I hope I can trust him.

* * *

**a/n:** I just wanted to say that I know in original myth Prometheus is not actually Plutus' father, but for the sake of plot, I've kind of twisted that little detail. There will be a few myths I need to manipulate for this story, so if you have any questions please ask.

Also, I was wondering if anything in this story feels rushed so far? I plan to edit once everything is said and finish, but as for now I'm simply letting the story flow at the course which it's, well, flowing. Any critiques are appreciated.

Thanks for reading!


	3. They Don't Know Any Better

**a/n**: sorry this took so long guys. writer's block has been kicking my ass lately. i hope the story is starting to get a more even flow; let me know? thanks.

* * *

I'm about ready to gouge my eyes out by the time Prometheus joins us in the dining car for breakfast. Iris is trying to teach Pan and me proper table etiquette because apparently we're using the wrong forks for our fruit cups. I didn't know fruit had a particular dishware to use while eating it.

Prometheus is washed and freshly shaven, sitting down next to me and pouring himself a glass of orange juice before taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

"Good morning, Prometheus," Iris chirps, and my worry that she had overheard anything between the two of us last night fades. "How are you?"

In response, Prometheus grunts, blowing a ring out towards Pan, who sits across from him at the table. The little kid blinks, coughing away the smoke. I was right in the assumption that he's only a ways past twelve. A small kid, with gangly limbs and an almost lame step to his movements. His curly hair is brown and his eyes are brown and his skin is tanned from years of working in the fields. A quiet little thing he is, almost afraid of every movement, even his own.

I pick up a muffin from the middle of the table. It has blueberries baked into it, still warm to the touch as I spread butter over the top. Back home, real butter is a bit of a luxury. I've probably eaten an entire stick since I've been here.

Downing his orange juice in one go, Prometheus grabs a few pieces of toast and lathers them in blackberry jelly. He crunches into them and pours himself a cup of coffee, all while managing to finish off his cigarette. You'd think after his Games, he'd be more adverse to smoke, but that doesn't seem the case in the slightest. I gulp down the rest of my muffin and grab a piece of bacon, stuffing it into my mouth.

"Calm down, Kore," Iris says after a moment. "You act as if you've never eaten these things before."

I quickly share a leveled glance with Pan, the only time he's ever looked me fully in the eye. We both know that Iris is correct, even if she's being sarcastic. Though I'm not starved, I never get things like this at home. The bread is made from leftover grain and often molded, and the rest of the time I exist on fruit and nuts and vegetables.

Pan, it looks, gets even less. He's eaten so many donuts I'm afraid his stomach will rip in two. More than likely his parents are just field workers, not having their own garden. They more than likely trade work for food, which I know from before my mother's shop is a hunk of moldy cheese, some stale bread, and the bruised produce from the fields, barely enough for each person.

I toss a piece of bacon to him, which he sniffs and then eats engrossingly.

Prometheus gives me a cross look. He'd said not to get close to Pan, but he's just a little boy after all. And we're not in the Games yet. Why can't I give him something he's probably never tried before? It isn't as if I'm saying _hey let's team up and I'll kill myself for you_. Shaking my head, I take a drink from my apple juice. It still feels as if none of this is real, anyways.

As if to defy me, Prometheus pops his jaw in and out of place. Just like Plutus always used to do. I sigh, glaring down at the tabletop as my stomach rumbles from how full it is. We're scheduled to arrive in the Capital in exactly two hours, and with my luck I'll probably vomit up everything when we walk onto the station platform.

"Shall we watch the recaps again?" Iris asks once it seems everyone is finished eating.

No one is very apt to say no at this point, but I do notice Prometheus wonder away from the herd as we make our way into the entertainment car. _Lucky_, I think, having a seat on the plush couch set up in front of the television. The cushions are so soft I sink into them. Iris sits next to me, Pan choosing an overstuffed pillow on the floor as the television turns on. Newsfeed from the Capital streams through, a day show of posh women talking about how _cute_ the tributes are this year.

"And I mean, the twins from Ennéa, how adorable are they? Artemis and Apollo– what an alliteration!" says a woman with blue hair and diamonds making up her eyebrows.

Artemis and Apollo. _Allies_. Supposedly. What if everything Prometheus said last night was a lie? Maybe even if he is Plutus' father, he still doesn't like me because I'm the kid my mom had with someone else. What if he's in really good with the Capital– they made him a God after all– and because of what Plutus did to get killed, he's scoping out to see if I'm a traitor too? What if I'm being irrationally paranoid and am giving myself a stress headache?

I lean back against the couch cushions, watch as the women on television talk about Republic Déka. The tributes from it seem dead scared once they walk up on the Alter, their knees practically buckling as they shake hands. And then comes the sight of Pan and I, the only commentary being the women think Pan is _adorable_ and they like the curls of my hair.

I'm about ready to go back to my car and sleep for the next two hours when the tributes from Dódeka take screen. I gasp, as the girl is called first. Hestia Prytaneum– looks just like Despoina. I watch as she walks up on stage with chubby legs, at the very cusp of puberty. Her hair is darker than Despoina's, but it has the same fine curl to it and her eyes sparkle just as bright. She's got darker skin though, like a lot of children in her republic do.

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I watch as the male tribute is drawn from the sacrificial bowl. Hades Aidon. He's a tall boy, lean and strong with dark eyes and hair and skin. The moment he steps onto stage, Hestia rushes to his side and hugs it. The boy gently pats her back, and the escort of their republic, Asteria, clucks her tongue affectionately when Hades explains the two are cousins.

Twins and cousins in this year's Games. The Capital must be going wild with it. I wonder what they'd do if they found out my half-brother was the son of a God…

Shaking my head, I watch as Iris flips the channel, a new show, the same news. "Well, I was expecting more formal viewing, but I guess it was a lot to hope for at such an early hour…"

_Early_ hour? The sun's been in the sky for three hours. By this point in time, I would've been headed to the fields for work, done with school already. The eccentrics of the Capital never fail to confuse me. How nice it must be for them to sleep in.

This time I truly do leave the entertainment car, headed back toward the end of the train where a small platform looks on into fresh air. By this point we've reached Republic Októ, which is just right along the lines of the first two republics. The landscape here is full of grassy plains, climate cool in the coming Spring. I take a deep breath as I open the door, the smell of grain and clovers. When I step onto the platform I find Prometheus, once again smoking a cigarette. Of course.

"You stalking me, kid?" he laughs, but it's a bit without humor.

I join him in leaning against the back rail, shaking my head. "I still can't believe last night happened."

"It's a lot to take in," he says.

"Why even tell me?" I ask, twiddling with my hands.

He shrugs. "You needed to know the truth; better sooner than later. I need you to trust me."

"I don't even know you," I whisper.

"No," Prometheus agrees. "But you know your mother. Come on, Kore. Would she really have loved me if I was vile?"

For a moment, I am silent, just looking at him sideways. No, my mother would not have loved him had he been a bad man. Demeter Hagne is an excellent judge of character– she can spot a deceiver a mile away. If Prometheus was a liar, then she would never have loved him for even a second, nor would she have loved his child as much as she did.

Letting out a breath, I say, "No."

"Then you know I'm not a bad guy here."

"No, and neither are the kids trying to kill me," I say, total honesty. "It's not as if they chose this."

"The Demigods did."

The Demigods that Prometheus mentions are the children who grew up in the wealthier republics, having been taught the Games truly are an honor. They've grown their whole lives being trained for the Games, wanting nothing more in the world than to be a God. Most of the time, there isn't even sacrificials chosen from the Demigod republics– they simply volunteer.

"They don't know any better," I tell Prometheus, because they don't.

When we used to watch the Games together on television, Plutus would sigh at the Demigods who volunteered, saying that it couldn't be any easier for the Capital to brainwash them into thinking the Games are a gift to participate in. Plutus would say that Republic Dekatría was right when they rebelled– that the Capital's _control_ which was supposedly so wonderful was just a bunch of bullshit. He said that if the Capital was really as great as they tried to portray, they wouldn't let the outer republics starve, or let the babies and old ones die from disease, or let the people work themselves to death. They wouldn't have let my father die from typhus because he cut himself on a rusted combine engine. They wouldn't have whipped Plutus to death just because he said that the Capital deserved none of his respect, and never would receive it, that he'd rather die first.

"I know," Prometheus says in answer to my comment. "It's why things need to change."

I blink, look to him in astonishment. "Someone will hear."

"Nope," he says, blowing out a curling ring of smoke. "Train isn't rigged back here. No one usually comes outside. Too busy enjoying the luxury."

I scrunch up my nose. "Everything's too…comfy."

Prometheus scoffs. "Say that when you live in the Capital. Feels like you're sleeping on a baby's ass, the sheets are so soft."

I shake my head at him, gripping the rails tighter. "How are things supposed to change anyway?"

"You'll see," he says, tossing his finished cigarette onto the blurring tracks. "But for now, you need to go make yourself pretty for when we get to the Capital."

I stare after him as he goes back inside the train. _You'll see._ What kind of answer is that? Frowning, I move back inside too. Being left out of the loop has never been my favorite thing. It's kind of infuriating to me, actually. Plutus used to tease me all the time with false secrets. Sometimes I would get so frustrated I'd cry. It's not so much that I'm nosy; it's just more that I don't like not knowing things. Mother always tried to shelter all of us from the bad things in Elláda, tried to keep us innocent minded like flowers bloomed in the dark. What she doesn't get is that we need the truth– flowers need the sun even if it will burn them.

Sighing, I go back to my train car and slowly take off my chiton, setting it on the bed. I'll probably never get to wear the pretty little thing again. The thought depresses me as I go to take a shower in the fancy bathroom, nozzles everywhere. Water sprays from all directions when I touch them, and there's this really nice smelling gel for my hair and body that I can wash with. It leaves my curls soft and my flesh rosy.

I pull open one of the drawers of the dressers after I've dried off, taking out a pretty silk chiton. It's pink, and shiny, and the zone I fasten it with is made of fine leather. Wrinkling my nose, I take the narcissus pin off of my old chiton and fasten it to the new one, slipping on a pair of sandals afterward and mussing with my hair a bit.

A knock on my door sounds, and Iris calls through it that we're reaching the Capital. I take a deep breath and go to the main car of the train, where Pan is sitting on one of the benches staring out at the platform ahead. I resist the urge to tell him to stop fidgeting like I would Despoina, instead sitting next to him and looking outward. The moment the train begins to slow and the people of the Capital can see us, they start cheering.

I feel a heat move up behind me. "Smile and wave," Prometheus says in passing.

I do as I'm told, stretching my lips full and giving them the brightest grin I can achieve. My wave is overly exaggerated, a child's wave. Nothing regal, but no one cares. The train comes to an abrupt stop and Iris ninnies at Pan and I to move to the doors that let us off.

Once in the air of the Capital, camera lights begin flashing and reporters call mine and Pan's names. Iris tells us to keep going, giving a little snip of, "No comment," here and there to the crowd.

We're moved into a car, which drives us to a building on the edge of the city– the building we'll spend the next six days in before being thrown into the arena. It's tall, made of metal and glass with the Divinity Games emblem of an owl perched on a cypress branch etched into the front doors. Iris drags Pan and I inside, Prometheus following after us and telling the bellhop to fuck off when he tries to tell Prometheus that he can't smoke in here.

The elevator we have to take is shiny; Iris pushes the button for the eleventh floor and we move up, up, up at an alarming rate. I've never been in an elevator before, so it's only now I find out that I'm scared of them. The rising sensation makes my stomach bottom out and I start to gasp for air, pressing back against the wall. I need earth, solid ground and soil.

"I…don't like that," I say when we come to a stop, the doors sliding open with a crisp _ding_.

Pan shakes his head in accompaniment. I begin to wonder if the boy isn't just mute. He hasn't spoken a single word since his name was drawn.

With a shake of my head, I follow Iris out into the grand room we're to stay in. It's almost so lush I want to turn tail and run, afraid that if I touch anything then it'll break. Half the space is made of windows anyways, glass figures adorning all other surfaces. The furniture is modern and bright in color, so different from the wooden structures covered in cushions back home.

"Make yourselves at home!" Iris calls, disappearing into the hall. A door slams shut to what I guess is her room or something.

"Yours is down the hall, bud," Prometheus says, nodding Pan off.

The boy responds without protest, rushing off. I watch after him, looking back to the room once he's gone from sight. It's then I notice the lone figure standing by the elevator doors. She's dressed in a dark red chiton that covers every inch of her. Chestnut curls pile atop her head, held in place by flowered pins. I blink at her and she blinks at me, mouth set in a straight line.

"She can't speak," Prometheus says, snapping me out of my stupor.

"Oh," I say. And I'm smart enough to put two and two together, realizing she's wearing servants' robes and that the reason she can't speak is that her tongue has been cut out. It's actually one of the less harsh punishments inflicted by the Capital. If you commit a crime against them, you can have your tongue cut off and be sent to work in the Capital, never to speak freely again. "Sorry," I say, more to the girl than anyone in the room.

Prometheus nods, moving over to a bar in the middle of the room and grabbing a glass. He sloshes amber liquid into it, taking a long sip before addressing me. "I know what your stick is gonna be, kid."

"And what's that?" I ask, touching the back of one of the couches in the room. It's made from a fabric I've never felt.

"We're gonna work the little maiden angle."

"What?"

"That girly grin and wave you gave the media made them wild. You're short and cute and like I said, big eyes. Your momma's eyes. With the right make-up and clothes you can be Elláda's favorite sweetheart. We'll make the sponsors wanna nurture you." He drinks the rest of the contents of the glass. "Let the competitors think you're weak."

I sigh, sitting on the edge of the couch and shaking my head. "There's girls way younger than me this year," I say, thinking of little Hestia from Dódeka.

"Doesn't matter. She's little, yeah, but you have _sex appeal_. Innocent sex appeal, but it's still there. Nothing makes good television like a little virgin girl from a poor home. Besides, maybe we can keep you alive that much longer if you get bidders."

"Bidders?" I ask. "Bidders for what?"

"Virginity," Prometheus says simply. "Listen, Kore. I'm determined to get you through these games and back your ma, but there's a lot of shit you're gonna have to get used to even after the Games are won. First off being, the Capital will own you. Doesn't matter if you're a God– they own you. You do what they want. So the better we get you in with them now, the better chances you'll have of making it through this thing.

"If I can get you some old perverts who want a night with you bad enough, then the presents will be flowing in. Hell, sometimes they'll drop hints to help you avoid catastrophe during the Offering."

The only thing I can do at this point is stare at Prometheus. "This is too much."

Chuckling, Prometheus pours himself another glass of the amber liquid, and then takes out a second glass to fill. "That's why you drink," he says, walking over to me and handing the glass off. "Bottoms up kid, 'cause you better get used to this quick if you wanna live."

Taking the glass from him, I stare at it for a moment before bringing it to my lips, tipping it back and letting it burn at the back of my throat. I sputter and cough, almost dropping the glass as Prometheus begins to clap me on the back.

Definitely should've just choked on the scone yesterday; dying like that would have been much easier.


	4. One Sheltering Mother for Another

"Ow!" I say, as a manicured nail pokes at my arm. It's encrusted in jewels that are prickly. "Watch it."

A tongue clucks at me, and as if sitting here on a cold, metal table isn't enough, I've got women swarming around me scrutinizing my appearance. Of course I knew this was coming– the Tribute Parade is the kickoff for training week before the Games. But I hadn't really expected _so much_ prep for it. I feel like my head's going to spin off, with all the stylists walking around me in the prep room. I barely know any of their names, except for my main stylist's.

Her name is Nyx.

She's a tall, regal woman who looks as if she is from Republic Dódeka by the dark tan of her skin. She isn't as overly done as some of her assistants, instead choosing to keep her hair slick, long and black. It looks as if there are stars in her eyes, and she's got golden tattoos of the night sky etched into her cheekbones, down her neck, across her collar.

Nyx is a quiet woman, eyeing me without a word as her personal team of three little stylist hens cluck over how _awful_ my skin has become from all the years I've spent in the sun. "Would you look at the poor thing's pores!" one of them– I think her name is Calliope– says. She's got music notes sketched in glitter all over her, and her skin is practically blue.

Another woman, a bit rounder and prettier says, "And she's _covered_ in hair."

"We need to give her a good wax, Clio," says a short, purple headed assistant. "And a skin treatment!"

"And do her nails," Calliope says, clucking her tongue. "And get someone on those atrocious eyebrows stat!"

I sit there, wide-eyed at all of them. For a moment, I'm about to start crying. It's not that I'm offended over them insulting my appearance– I know I'm not Capital material– it's more that I don't want to not look like _me_. My mother always told me I am fine the way I am, her pretty little flower with thorns to protect her. I don't want to be turned into some hybrid plant of the Capital. Gods forbid I have purple hair by the end of this makeover.

As if she senses my panic, Nyx sets a steady hand upon my shoulder. "Don't worry, Kore. It's not all as bad as it sounds. I'll make sure you stay virtually the same, just cleaned up, alright?"

I look at her, the stars in her eyes swirling, and nod. She's got a warm touch and a calming manner, soft as the night when she smiles at my acceptance and has me lay back on the table, pulling my thin cotton gown to the side. Panic sets in at the realization that I am completely naked, but none of the stylists seem affected by it. They've probably done this hundreds of times, and there's nothing inherently wrong with me for them to tsk their tongues at.

Focusing on my breathing, I wait as the women cover my body in a heavy feeling wax, setting papers atop it before they begin ripping. It stings like being slapped and I hiss air through my teeth, fingers scraping against the cold metal beneath them. If Plutus were to see me now he'd probably be doubled over in laughter at my torture for the sake of looking nice. To him, everyone was better off covered in mud.

_Despoina would like this_, I can't help but think as I realize the wax smells of honeysuckle and poppies. Those are her favorites, and she loves when I use berries and flowers as make-up on her. She loves to be _pretty_. I used to like that kind of thing too, before Plutus was killed and I was suddenly thrust into adulthood, childish dreams broken by the harsh frost of reality.

Having my legs waxed isn't too awful, but when they move up to the point between my thighs I start cursing, about to throw fists if Nyx didn't press a reassuring hand against my shoulder once again. When that part's done I'm ready to run, but they still want my under arms and _atrocious_ eyebrows, as Calliope so graciously put it.

Finally, when I'm all bare and pink, Nyx helps put my gown back on– I'm a bit shaky from the stinging leftovers of the wax– and walks me to the other side of the room where a beautiful bathtub is filling with warm water. Fancy gels are added in, smelling even nicer than the ones from the shower on the train.

The stylists stick me in after removing my gown once more and scrub until my skin is even more raw, rinsing my curls with some weird solution before washing me off and wrapping me in a fluffy robe. They sit me in a chair and fuss over my hair, twisting it into braids that are usually for women, yet whimsical enough I still have childish appeal. I guess Prometheus was able to relay the little maiden bit to them already.

I bite my tongue as they cake make-up onto me, making my skin blend and rouging my lips and cheeks. They make my eyelashes incredibly long; tell me it'll look great if I bat them at the crowd. And then they start stuffing produce flowers of every kind in my hair. Apple blossoms, peach blossoms, orange blossoms, honeysuckle, olive branch, cherry blossoms, rosemary, blueberry vines…

And just as I think I'm only going to be allowed my hair for cover, Nyx brings over a beautiful, sparkling gown. It's simple and shines the color of wheat, with draped grape vines around the shoulders, and a long slit where my right leg will show.

"Wow," I say, fingering the silky material. "Pretty."

"Thank you," Nyx smiles proudly, helping me stand so she can put it on me. It's soft on the inside, hanging off my body like the expensive chitons women of the capital wear. "I wanted you to look simple, but still represent your republic. Pan's stylist and I made sure that both of you match."

I twirl a bit in the dress, upsetting the stylist hens who right me with sass and start painting gold onto my body with stencils in the shape of flowers and vines. "Did you talk to Prometheus?" I ask after a moment, noticing the slit covers enough that I still feel half-way modest.

Chuckling, Nyx says, "Yes. You're to be the maiden of these Games. Who knows, you may even be turned into a virgin Goddess if you win, like Athena Pallas was last year."

At the mention of _virgin_, I try not to cringe. Obviously Prometheus didn't fill Nyx in enough for her to know that my virginity is more of a bidding war than a Goddess title. For a moment I feel a bit of jealousy for Athena Pallas– she won without sponsors, without odds. Her Games ended almost as soon as they began. So many died in the bloodbath, and everything else was a slippery marsh. There wasn't anywhere to hide, and the contestants picked each other off quick, Athena hiding in stray areas no one would think to hide, shooting arrows at passing targets. The Games only lasted a week before she was crowned Victor.

Shaking my head, I look up at Nyx who is eyeing me critically. "You know," she says after a moment, hand under her chin and the stars in her eyes alight. "Looking like this, you may just be the killer over the other tributes yet, Kore Hagne."

For the sake of these Games, I do so hope she's right.

* * *

Iris directs Pan and I to wait by our chariot when we reach the prep deck before the parade begins. I notice that Pan's wearing the same kind of chiton I'm in, though his is cut to fit a boy and not a girl. There are a few blossoms in his hair, but more rosemary and olive branch than flowers.

"You look nice," I say to him softly, because he is shaking like a scared little kid. I don't care if Prometheus said not to talk to him. I can't just let him worry like that. "It's going to be okay, y'know? Just smile and wave, like we see them do on television every year."

Pan looks up at me, eyebrows pulling together in the center. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then someone whistles at us. I look up to see Prometheus wave me over. With a small look back at Pan, I do as told and move to stand next to Prometheus, eyeing him expectantly.

There's another man standing next to him, tall and strong but aged by sadness. He has golden hair and pallid skin and the green, green eyes of the earth.

"This is Atlas," Prometheus says, and instantly I bow my acknowledgement.

Atlas, the God who holds the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He killed fifteen contestants in his Games, all with one knife and not a scratch sustained to himself. He isn't a handsome God, nor is he known for being well-liked. He's simply known as the blood soaked killer of Republic Ennéa, and he holds the weight of the world upon his shoulders because of the death he has brought to so many families of Elláda.

Somehow though, I am not frightened of him.

"Lord Atlas," I say as I stand straightly, tucking a strayed flower back into my hair.

Atlas shakes his head. "Please, Kore, don't use any titles."

"Atlas is the man I was telling you of," Prometheus says, clapping his fellow God on the back. "He's mentor for Apollo and Artemis, the twins from Ennéa." _Allies_. It isn't said, but all three of us know the meaning behind Prometheus' words.

"They're around here somewhere," Atlas says, eyes sweeping over the prep deck. "Little heathens; I swear they have their own secret language they're so close. Have a good chance of winning, if they pick the right side…"

I bite my lip, glance down at the ground. "Guess that's a nice _change_," I say, trying to be sly.

For his part, Prometheus rolls his eyes. "Look, we'll talk about all this pitter-patter later. I just wanted you to meet a God of prospect while you had the chance. Go get ready– the chariots are lining up."

Nodding, I turn on my heel and bite my tongue as I begin to walk away. Behind me, I can hear Atlas asking in a low tone, "Does she know yet?"

"She knows about her family," Prometheus says back, and it's the last snippet of the conversation that I get before I'm out of hearing range.

The republics' chariots are lined up in numerical order. Pan and I are second to last, being from Énteka and all. Pan's already in position, staring straight ahead as I'm about to hoist myself in next to him. The heel of my sandal catches on the lift, causing me to slip back. I'm about to fall on my ass against the floor, when suddenly there are arms bracing around my sides, holding me up.

I twist my head; get a glimpse of dark eyes as the person who caught me helps me to stand up straight. "Thanks," I say, turning to face them.

It's the boy from Dodéka– _Hades_.

He grunts in response, moving to walk away from me. I notice that he's covered in coal dust, his hair spiked up and dyed like it's in flames. He's got some kind of cape on too, the ends split so they flow like fire the way his hair does.

"Wait," I say before I can stop myself.

He stops; eyes me wearily, and I shuffle my feet together, twiddling my fingers.

"I–" I begin to say, but swallow. What _am_ I going to say? "Good luck," is what I finally settle upon, giving him a small smile.

Shaking his head, Hades turns with a snort, like I've just insulted him. He walks back to his chariot with its charcoal horses and hoists himself in, where I notice the girl from his republic, Hestia, smiling at him with a secret glint in her eyes. She begins speaking, but he waves her off.

Biting my lip, I climb back into my own chariot without falling this time. Pan doesn't say anything to me, and I have no idea what to say to him, so we both stand there quietly before the parade is announced to begin, the chariots snapping into action simultaneously. The wheat colored horses that lead ours whinny, then stomp, lurching our chariot forward.

I take a deep breath, staring at the screens above the crowds. First it shows Republic Énas in all of their glitzy glory, the girl barely clothed except for diamonds over the apex of her thighs and her nipples. The boy looks strong and fierce, waving to the crowd with eyes like lighting. And then it's Republic Dyo and the next and the next.

I bite my tongue; brace myself against the overwhelming anxiety in my chest. What if I mess up? I don't know how I can mess up, but what if I do? What if they hate me? What if I never get sponsors? But Gods, what does it matter? I'm going to die in these Games anyways.

The moment our chariot is shown to the crowd, they begin to go wild.

Pan and I are both stock still at first, wide eyes to the screams and shouts. And then I hear Prometheus' words in my head _smile wave_. _Don't mess up, Kore_. A grin splits my mouth, wide and girly as I begin to wave my hand in soft seduction. People cheer for it, throwing flowers into the lane.

I giggle; stifle my hand to my mouth in a show of childish wonder. The screens around us are suddenly filled with my image, and I stare at them in awe, half acting and half truthful. And then I pull my hand away and blow kisses to the cameras, adding in small flutters of a wave here and there.

The screens turn away from me then, moving to little Hestia behind mine and Pan's chariot, but I keep smiling and waving, giggling as a few patrons call my name. "Kore, Kore, _Kore_!"

It's all kind of whirlwind, too much almost. I've been a sheltered girl most of my life; I've never had much attention and it was alright with me that way. I had my family. Mother always said that you didn't need anyone else. Family never hurt you, but the world did.

I can hear her words now, and I feel so out of place. But at the same time my heart is beating a million miles a minute. Adventure has always been in my blood. My father used to tell Plutus and me stories of it before he tucked us in at night. Seeing the world in a view that's different from the television screens, from the Capital's plotted images.

Freedom has always seemed something so far away, and all I've ever wanted is to be free.

This parade is more condemning than I've ever felt in my life, even when Mother used to keep me inside as a child so I wouldn't play with the more wily kids of Énteka. I am a piece to this Game. Simply a pawn to show everyone how much control this Capital has. I've traded one sheltering mother for another, only this one will probably kill me if I don't obey.

But I'm probably going to die soon anyways, so what does it really matter?

The chariots all come into a formed halt. We're in front of the podium where President Cronus stands now. He's tall and regal in a pressed suit with dark, meticulous hair. His eyes are full of secret and power as his close-up flashes over the screens.

"Welcome, welcome to this year's seventy-fourth annual Divinity Games!" Cronus calls, to which the crowd cheers. "To all of our tributes, this is the year that you shall fight for honor! And one of you, the brightest and strongest of all, shall join our Gods in their halls of prominence!"

Everyone cheers louder at this, and I look around toward the other Tributes to find they're silent, except for the Demigod districts that snicker in arrogance at Cronus' words. Next to our chariot is Republic Dodéka's. Hestia is holding onto Hades' hand with a fierce grip, not willing to look at Cronus in probably fear of what she'll find there.

As if he senses me watching, Hades' eyes snap up to meet mine. He's glaring. Instantly, I look away, down at the metal of the chariot I stand in.

Cronus is saying something about tradition and the symbol these Games represent. The crowd has been silent this entire time, but finally Cronus says, "May the Fates be ever in your favor!" and everyone goes wild.

The chariots lurch forward once more, swerving so the tributes go back down the lane we came forward on. I put on my pretty little smile again and wave, blow kisses, giggle. It's a face I need to get used to, as I'll be wearing it all the way until I enter the arena.

And just like that, the parade is over.

When the chariots are back in the prep deck, all of the tributes begin to dismount. Pan scurries off before my feet even touch the ground, and as soon as they do Prometheus is standing before me, smirking.

"Good job, kid," he says. "The crowd loved you."

I blush irrationally, shrinking back as I nod. "I hope it was enough for them to notice."

"Oh, they noticed," says a voice to my left.

I turn to see Atlas, and beside him are two strikingly beautiful kids. They look exactly alike, with their chestnut hair and tanned skin and sparkling blue eyes and dimples. One is a girl, the other a boy. While she is lithe, he is strong. They both look almost feral, dressed in scant leather with peacock feathers decorating their appendages. The girl's hair is tied in intricate braids, and dark eye make-up wings out around her eyes and onto her temples. The boy's curly hair is a bit short, one single braid running along the left side. Nearly his entire eye area is painted over with dark blue.

"Kore, this is Artemis and Apollo, my tributes."

"Well we're not really _your_ tributes," Apollo says, flashing an arrogant grin.

"Yes, we don't belong to anyone, Lord Atlas," says Artemis, sharing her twin's smile. "We're wild, remember?"

"That's just your appearance for sponsors," Atlas sighs. "Stop being sarcastic little shits, would you?"

The twins share a glance, their eyes saying things no one else can decipher. "It's nice to meet you, Kore," they finally say at the same time, seeming genuine about it.

"Nice to meet you too," I say, feeling a bit out of place all over again.

They nod, Artemis reaching out to shake my hand, and then Apollo takes it after her and kisses my knuckles, waggling his eyebrows. Artemis hits him and tells him to stop flirting, grabbing him by the ear and yanking. He swears at her, which results in the two beginning to wrestle, Artemis managing to pin her twin within seconds.

Atlas looks at me, grimacing. "See what I must deal with? At least you are cooperative. No wonder Prometheus likes you."

"I think it's only because I'm kind of like family," I say without thinking, causing the twins to stop their wrestling.

Prometheus glares at me, shaking his head in agitation. "You're lucky that everyone else is busy and not paying attention to us, Kore. You need to watch your tongue more."

"Sorry," I say.

"So you're related?" Apollo asks, disregarding Prometheus' words.

"Not really," I say. "It's a republic thing."

"Oh," the twins say in unison, and then shrug.

Atlas clears his throat. "We need to be getting back to our assigned areas. You all begin training tomorrow."

"Oh," the twins say again. "It was nice meeting you, Kore."

"Nice meeting you too," I call after them as Atlas begins to walk them away.

"I can't wait for dinner," Artemis says wistfully to her twin as they retreat. "More pastries."

"You had better watch it sis," Apollo jokes. "Anymore peach rolls and you're going to be too hefty to move around in the arena next week."

Artemis socks him in the face.

"Hey, hey, _hey_!" Atlas scowls, dragging the two of them forward by their attire's collars. "Stop it! You give him a black eye and there goes his sex appeal for sponsors."

"He deserved it," Artemis says, and it's the last thing I hear of the group before they disappear into the crowd of swarming stylists and tributes and mentors.

"I don't know what I've gotten you into," Prometheus says after a moment, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leading me toward the area set up for our republic.

"Can we trust them?" I ask, leaning into his side to keep things quiet. To anyone else the gesture would probably seem intimate, but after my last near-slip I'm not taking chances.

Prometheus nods. "Yes. Atlas said we can, and he wouldn't betray me… Just, watch your back, alright? If it comes down to the three of you, they won't hesitate to save each other."

I nod. "Okay."

We're met by Nyx at the republic prepy area, who begins taking flowers from my hair and wiping the make-up off my face as we move to the inside of the styling center. "You were great," she says to me, giving a smile to Prometheus. "You were right about this one, Pro. She's brilliant."

"I know," Prometheus says, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up. "She gets it from her mother."

* * *

**a/n**: feel free to let me know how you think things are going so far. any confusion or questions, please ask!


	5. I Meant No Harm

**A/N**: Hey everyone; I know it took me almost a month to update this story, but I forgot how very difficult it is to write in the insight of first person. But I've finally got chapter five down. Tell me what you think?

* * *

The morning we're to go to the training center for the first day, I feel as if my stomach has turned itself inside out. I sit at the table in the middle of the apartment we're staying in, picking at my food with my fork absentmindedly.

Last night, I slept in the nicest bed that I have ever known. Its sheets were velvet and the mattress had to have been stuffed with goose feathers, it was so soft. The pillows smelled of vanilla, and everything meld against my body perfectly. I'd had the best shower of my life, my hair feeling like silk from the soaps I used. It was like a place of dreams, and yet I couldn't sleep no matter how hard I tried.

My mind kept circulating with thoughts of President Cronus' words and images of Plutus as he lay draped across the kitchen table bleeding to death. We'd used the best herbs we knew of to try to take the pain away; resorted to burning the flesh closed to keep the blood inside of him. None of it had worked. It took Plutus three days to die, and by the end of it he had been begging for life to end. If the blood loss had not taken him when it did, I was considering giving him nightshade berries to give my poor brother mercy.

I'd like to blame Cronus for my brother's death. I'd like to blame the entire Capital, too. But I know it's not just them. It's all of us. Every single citizen of this nation that lets the Capital play us like pawns in a game of chess. If we were to stand up, innocent boys would not be whipped in the street for having a mind of their own. Innocent children would not be thrown into a ring to fight to the death. Being a murderer would not venerate you a God.

In all republics, murder is punished with death. But not for the Victor of the Divinity Games. No, they murder and they are praised. It's sick and twisted, but no one would dare say that. Not if we want to keep our heads, anyways.

So I didn't sleep, and now I can't eat. It's a shame, too. The table is full of gooey cinnamon rolls, dripping with frosting. There's pomegranates too, my favorite. I sigh forlornly at them, trying to take bites but my stomach turns to knots.

Prometheus can tell I'm nervous. He eyes me wearily from across the table where he drinks his coffee and eats his toast, reading a morning paper that one of the servants brought in from the Capital. "You'll be fine," he says after a moment, setting the paper down in favor of taking out a cigarette. "Try some new stuff. Learn as much as you can before you go in."

"What if I'm no good at anything?"

He smirks. "Never know until you try."

* * *

The moment I make it down to the training center, I've got Artemis and Apollo's arms around me. The latter has a black eyes, just like Atlas was worried about, but it doesn't seem to faze him as he gives me a flirty smile and says, "Atlas said we shouldn't show the alliance in the open, but at least this way the Demigods will know you're spoken for. Besides, that old fart barely knows what he's talking about most of the time." Artemis giving me a reassuring smile to accompany her twin's words.

"I don't think anyone would want to ally with me anyways," I say, blushing under their touch.

"You never know," says Artemis. "Maybe you're full of surprises!"

The first thing they do is drag me over to the archery range with them. I don't even know how to hold the bow properly, but Artemis and Apollo, they hit the bull's eye every time. I can see the startled looks from the Demigods, who all stand in herds at various stations. At one point Artemis smirks over at her twin and calls that she bets she can split his arrow right down the middle. He says she's on, which causes the girl to grin and take aim. Sure enough, the head of her arrow slices straight down the quick of Apollo's, sticking into the bull's eye with a splitting _crack_.

"Told ya' so," Artemis grins at her twin, who just shoves her in the shoulder and laughs. "What about you, Kore? What do you want to do next?"

I shrug my shoulders at them, saying I think I'm just going to walk around and see what all there is to do for a while. They nod, telling me to join them at the obstacle course later if I want, and head off in its direction. I watch them go before turning toward the combat station to my left, freezing up at the glare a male tribute standing there is giving me. I'm pretty sure he's from Dyo, golden skinned and golden haired with dark scars marring one side of his face.

Not wanting to hold his gaze any longer, I quickly move over to the station to my right, which happens to be the wildlife identification station. It's full of archives of books about plants and animals, some of which you have to look at a picture and guess which species it is and what it does. I'm surprised when I bend down to one of the lower shelves there and spy a head of chestnut curls through the slits in the book.

Curiously, I move to the other side of the shelf and find little Hesita from Dódeka sitting there, a book split open in her lap. "Hello," I say, startling her as she nearly jumps up and gives off a small yelp.

"Um…hello," she says back, keeping her posture rigid.

"I'm Kore," I say, giving her my friendliest smile. I'd feel awful if I scared her off. "From Énteka."

"Oh, I know," Hestia says, seeming to calm a little. "You looked real pretty in the parade yesterday."

"Thank you," I say, and gesture to the spot next to her. "Do you mind if I sit?" She shakes her head, and so I gingerly sit down by her. "You looked very lovely yourself. I liked your cape; it looked really neat flying out behind you."

"I was afraid it was really on fire for a moment," she admits, giving me a nervous smile full of crooked teeth. She's missing one of her front ones, and it makes my heart ache to realize how much of a child she still is. "I like fire though, so maybe it woulda been cool if it was."

"I like fire, too," I say earnestly. "Especially in the winter when it gets chilly." I make a shivering motion and wrap my arms around myself goofily.

Hestia laughs, nearly leaning into my side as she relaxes completely. "You're a lot nicer than the other tributes."

"Really?" I ask, but it isn't surprising. "What about your cousin; hasn't he been watching out for you?"

"Oh yeah!" she says enthusiastically. "Hades is real protective, but one of the mentors at the sword station called him over and wanted him to show her somethin', so I came over here to read. I don't really know much about any of these plants though…"

"I can teach you," I say. I know if Prometheus was here he'd be glowering at me, but I don't much care. "My mom's really good with plants, so I know a lot."

"I'd like that," Hestia says shyly, and it's so much like Despoina that I'd let her kill me in the arena, if she asked.

"Okay, well this one," I say, motioning to a plant with pointed leaves and stems full of small red blooms found in clusters printed on the page, "is called a castor plant. It is _very_ dangerous. If you try to eat the seeds from it, it will kill you in two days. You don't want to touch them, _at all_."

"I heard about a boy in our republic once that died because he ate some castor seeds. Everyone said it was a real bad death."

"It can be very painful," I nod. "But now it won't happen to you, because you know better, right." I bump her shoulder with mine and try to give her a smile, to which she laughs at. I point to the next picture on the page, with round, shining blackberries. "That's called belladonna. It's a bad plant too. Sometimes they call it nightshade, because it makes you sleep forever."

"You mean it kills you too?" Hestia asks, brown eyes wide and innocently frightened.

"Yes," I say. "But this one," I set my finger on the image of a branch full of brown clusters with yellow strip petals flying out of them, "it's called witch hazel."

"The one Hecate used as a symbol!" Hestia says eagerly.

Hecate Soteira was one of the first winners of Republic Dódeka, back when the Games began. She was very intelligent and crafty, using different concoctions of the plants in the arena to not only disable her competitors, but create smokescreens to get away and remedies to cure pains. She was named Goddess of witchcraft, because the creativity of everything she did could only be described as such. After winning her games she returned back to her republic and became a renowned doctor of natural remedies.

"Very good!" I say to Hestia encouragingly. She's smart for a kid her age; most twelve year olds know nothing of past victors. Sometimes it can really come in handy to take their past experience and use it, when in the arena and you need an idea to help yourself out. "Do you know what it does?"

"It helps with aches and pains, right?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. "It can also take down swelling. So if you hurt something in the arena and it starts to puff up, and there's witch hazel anywhere near, smash it down into a sort of paste. You can put it on the wound, and then wrap it up and it should help with the pain and tenderness.

"I remember once, my older brother fractured his wrist, but he had to work in the fields the next day, which you have to use your hands a lot for. My mom put some witch hazel on his wrist, and a splint, and this way it didn't hurt while he was working."

"You have an older brother?" Hestia asks curiously.

My smile turns soft then, sad. "Yeah, but he passed away last year."

"I'm real sorry," Hestia says, putting a small hand on my arm.

"It's okay, sweetie," I say to her, patting her hand. "Do you have any siblings?"

She shakes her head, curls bouncing. "Just my cousins. Hades has three sisters, but they're kinda mean." Hestia wrinkles her nose, then lets her expression soften into a fond smile. "But I like Hades. He's real nice."

"I'm glad," I say, not wanting to respond with anything else because Hades hadn't seemed _real nice_ when he'd been glaring at me during the parade yesterday. "I have a little sister and a brother too, back home. They're going to be watching us in the Games."

"Really?" Hestia asked, seeming intrigued. "What're their names?"

"Well, my sister, who's about your age– her name's Despoina. And my baby brother's name is Arion. He'll be three this summer."

"Cool!" Hestia says. "I like babies. They're nice."

"They are," I agree with her. "He's pretty cute, and really likes horses, or as he calls them, 'orsies, because he can't pronounce the word yet."

Hestia giggles at that, and I'm left smiling tenderly at her until suddenly there's a figure at my side, really tall and really intimidating as he says, "Hestia, what are you _doin_'?"

The little girl looks up, her eyes wide and guiltless. "Kore was teachin' me about plants!" she says excitedly. "She's real smart, Hades."

I try to give the boy my best 'I-meant-no-harm' kind of look, but he simply glares at me and snorts before saying, "Come on, Hestia. I want to show ya how to set a snare."

"Can Kore come with?" Hestia asks.

I look between her hopeful face and Hades' renewed scowl. "That's okay, sweetie," I say to her. "I have to go talk to my friends anyways. I said I'd meet them at the obstacle course."

Her face falls slightly, but she nods. "Okay. I'll see you later though, right?"

"Sure," I say to placate her.

With one last grin at me, Hestia gets up and walks past Hades towards the survival skills unit, a bounce in her step; she's a special girl, to still be hopeful when in less than a week she'll be fighting for her life.

Sighing, I look after a moment before turning my attention back to Hades, who is still standing above me, eyeing my frame wearily. "I don't get what you're playing at, Énteka" he finally says.

I can't keep the shock from registering on my face, or the anger. "My name is _Kore_. And I'm not playing at anything," I say with a frown, getting to my feet and looking him in the eye. I won't cower under his intimidating stare. "I just told her not to eat some nightshade; excuse me for wanting to keep the poor kid safe. Now if you'll please move."

Hades crosses his arms over his chest and raises a defiant eyebrow. "Make me, _Kore_."

With a blatant scoff, I brush past him and don't look back, cheeks heating as I realize that was probably a really stupid thing to do. I've probably unintentionally made a new enemy. _Everyone's your enemy anyways_, I try to tell myself. _Even Artemis and Apollo, eventually_.

I keep walking in their direction though, toward the obstacle course. When I get there, it's to see Artemis hanging upside down in some climbing ropes with Apollo holding onto her ankle to keep her from falling head-first to the floor. "Boy, that was some sexual tension right there," she says as I step up to them.

"What?" I ask, completely ignorant to her meaning.

"You and that kid from Dódeka; I thought you were gonna kiss or something."

"It looked like they'd be doing a lot more than kissing, sister," Apollo winks and gives her ankle a little shake.

She kicks up with the foot he isn't holding and snags him in the thigh, making Apollo curse but he doesn't drop her. "Not all of us are as perverse as you, dear brother."

"Whatever, you're just grumpy because you've never gotten any."

"Any what?" I ask, glancing back and forth between the two.

Artemis and Apollo share a momentary look, then turn their eyes on me. "Oh, Kore honey," Apollo says. "No wonder everyone's calling you the Maiden."

"They're _already_ calling me that?" I hiss.

"Prometheus and Atlas work fast," Artemis says, grabbing hold of the ropes she's eye-level with and not even having to tell Apollo to let go of her feet before he does and she makes an elegant flip onto the ground, landing in a crouch in front of me.

Apollo jumps down next, rising from the mat with a flourish. "They're already calling us the Archer Twins."

"Gods," I say.

"Our mentors know what they're doing," Artemis shrugs.

"I'll bet," I murmur, and follow after the twins to the knife throwing station with a shake of my head.

I'd imagine Prometheus already has bets for my virginity ranking in too, then. The thought makes me cringe, and when I throw my first knife at the dummies in front of me, I aim for its groin, just to let the steam off.

* * *

Artemis, Apollo and I end up eating lunch together, Artemis scarfing down sweet rolls and Apollo jokingly poking her in the side and telling her she's getting flabby. "Look who's talking," Artemis says, smacking him in the head. "You're on your third cheese bun already."

"A man needs sustenance," Apollo says, puffing out his chest.

"Yeah, well so does a woman," Artemis says, sticking out her tongue which still has sugar crumbs on it. "Isn't that right, Kore?"

I nod, mouth too full to speak. Personally, I'm already on my second piece of this fabulous bun covered in cheese, meats and vegetables like olives and mushrooms and peppers. I've eaten ten extra-large strawberries already, too.

"Easy for Kore to say though. Girl's got all kinds of curves she's gotta keep intact," Apollo says, making an hourglass figure with his hands.

"Perv," Artemis says, smacking him again as I blush and continue to stuff bread in my mouth.

It's when I'm moving onto my third piece I notice Pan coming from the buffet line and looking around for a place to sit. Everyone knows that joining the table of Demigods is out of the question. Hestia and Hades are sitting together alone at a table in the corner of the room, and everyone else is still getting lunch.

"Pan!" I call, catching the boy's attention and motioning him over to our table.

"Kore," Artemis and Apollo hiss. "We're not supposed to talk to him."

"He's just sitting with us," I whisper back, turning to give Pan a smile as he takes the seat next to mine. The table is round and there are still two chairs left, but if he took one farther away he'd be sitting by Artemis and Apollo and I'm sure he's weary to do such a thing. "Hi, Pan," I say softly.

He stares at his tray, which is full of sweet breads and– I kind of want to giggle– bacon. I guess he really liked it when I gave him some on the train. "Hi," he says, voice a bit of a bleak squeak.

_He talked!_ I look to Artemis and Apollo excitedly, but they're simply staring at Pan suspiciously, turning to each other to give soft whispers and throwing me worried expressions. I roll my eyes and ignore them, taking quiet bites like Pan starts to until suddenly a chair pulls out at my side and a small, blonde girl sits down in it, hiding her face.

"Who are you?" Apollo asks a bit harshly, and Artemis elbows him in the ribs.

"Her name's Hebe," she says, giving the girl a welcoming look. "Republic Októ, right?"

The girl looks up, round, blue eyes frightened as she nods.

"How come you aren't sitting with the other tribute from your republic?" Apollo questions, his tone having turned a bit softer.

For her part, Hebe looks a little embarrassed. She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. "He isn't very nice, and everyone else said I can't sit with them." By everyone else, we all know she means the middle districts, which are made up of mostly older teens, where Hebe herself looks like she couldn't be more than twelve.

"How old are you, Hebe?" I ask, just to quench my curiosity.

"Fourteen," she says, her voice so demure the answer seems false, but why would she lie about it?

"Well, it's nice to meet you," I say. "I'm Kore, and that's Artemis and Apollo, and this is Pan."

"Hi," Hebe says, a bit less anxious. "You're all from Énteka and Ennéa, right…?" Everyone at the table nods, even Pan. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," we all say, except Pan who just stuffs his mouth with a bite of butter roll.

Everyone begins to eat again after that, silent and hungry after hours of training. We've got at least another twenty minutes left of lunch break, and then we'll go back into the training center for another five hours before being able to go to our republic apartments and rest for the night.

I'm considering going up and getting fourths of that stuffed bread when Apollo clears his throat. "So is it just me, or does anyone else not have any idea what the tributes from the other republics' names are?"

"Dódeka is Hades and Hestia," I say before I can stop myself.

"Of _course_ you'd know his name," Artemis winks, causing a deep blush to spread down to my collarbones. It isn't that I like the boy– he's infuriating– but she's insinuating I do and it's embarrassing.

"The boy from my republic's name is Phobos," Hebe says, taking a bite of some weird concoction made of noodles and a white sauce. "The ones from Eptá are Cratos and Chione, I think…"

"Déka is Hypnos and Theia," Pan squeaks. His voice sounds like the high notes of a pan pipe, and I'm suddenly very aware of where he must have gotten his name from.

"I think that brute from Dyo's name is Ares or something," Artemis says, causing me to cringe. "You alright, Kore?"

"Yeah," I say. "It's just… he was glaring at me this morning and I don't know why."

"Beats me," Apollo shrugs. "I mean, you looked hot at the parade last night and all, but it wasn't as if you had rapt attention from everyone. Most tributes are pretty even in the favorites polls right now; Atlas made us watch them this morning."

"Except the male from Tría; he's lame in one leg so no one thinks he has a chance," Artemis says, her expression growing grim. "It's strange, considering he's from the Demigod district."

"I saw him working in the electronics unit this morning," Hebe says softly. "One of the mentors told him if he connected some wires together, he'd blow everyone in the room up, and he just smiled at her and said he knew. It was kinda scary…"

Artemis, Apollo and I share a look, and I can see that Pan has paused in his veracious eating for a minute, before resuming, only a bit slower this time. "Do you think he'll dig up the land minds, if he lives past the bloodbath?" Artemis asks aloud.

"The ones around the cornucopia?" Hebe asks curiously.

"Yeah," Apollo says. "There was a tribute in the forty-third Games who did something like that. His name was Menoitious, I think. He didn't win or anything, but he blew up a good few tributes. He was from Tría too."

We're all silent again for a moment, each of us finishing off our lunches and staring at the empty trays. For such small things, both Hebe and Pan can pack away a good bit of food. For Pan it's easy to believe with how poor his family must be back in our republic. Hebe is considerably skinny herself, even though I've heard Októ manages pretty well in the nourishment department. Then again, with the negligence of the Capital, I shouldn't be surprised that even the well-to-do republics are still starving.

"Hey, Kore, don't look now," Artemis says, smirking at me. "But that Hades kid is staring at you."

I blink at her, and even though she expressly said _not_ to look, I can't help myself. Turning my head in the direction of the table Hades and Hestia sit at, I peek at them from under my eyelashes. Hestia is nibbling away at a peach, but Hades' eyes are on me, just as Artemis said. Our gazes connect, and I see something in his I can't quite decipher before I can no longer hold my nerve and look away, heat creeping up my cheeks.

"Don't get too attached, little maiden," Apollo warns. "You might just have to kill him in the arena."

"Yeah, I know," I say, because I do. But that doesn't mean I want to.


	6. Target on My Back

It isn't until later that night, when I'm getting ready for bed that I hear the knock on the door of my room. "One second!" I say, because I've just gotten out of the shower and am only wearing a towel.

The person who knocked does not wait though, instead coming in without permission and shutting the door behind them.

I glare at Prometheus, clutching the towel to my frame and about ready to yell at him when he sits down in one of the chairs by the window, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. The room instantly smells like the burned down match and I sigh, going into the closet to put on pajamas.

"What do you want?" I call out to him, pulling a silky tank over my head before stepping into a pair of cotton shorts.

"How'd your day go?" he asks as I walk out of the closet, toweling my hair so it'll dry quicker. We didn't have a chance to talk at dinner; Iris was too busy stammering on and on about the favorite tributes polls the television has been screening all day, and that fact that I'm in the top ten, but so are Artemis, Apollo, the tributes from Énas, Dyo and a few others from various republics.

I shrug at him, grabbing a brush off the dresser before sitting in the chair across from his. "I'm decent at throwing knives," I say, absently running the brush through my curls. "And of course, plants."

"Of course," Prometheus smirks, eyes lingering on the bare skin of my legs a moment longer than they should. I cross them self-consciously, draping the towel across my lap. He sighs, giving a small apology. "You look so much like your mother."

I give him a dumfounded look. "Everyone says I look like my dad."

"Maybe in the eyes," Prometheus says. "But the rest is Demi. Though when she was your age, she had her hair really short after it got caught in one of the milling turbines during harvest. I had to cut it off with a knife before she got her head sucked in."

For a moment, both Prometheus and I are silent, before I ask, "Why tell me about you and my mom? And Plutus? I mean, you could've been my mentor without having to complicate things. Or you could've waited to tell me until later. Why'd you tell me straight off?"

"I needed you to know you could trust me," he says, blowing a ring of smoke. "A lot of mentors have given up with their tributes from the start when their republic hasn't won in a long time, but I'm not going to give up on you, Kore. I can't. I owe your mom that much."

"Because you didn't save Plutus?" I ask, and it's a bit of a low blow but I still ask it anyways.

Prometheus' expression turns grim and he looks down at the table. "Yeah. And because you could've been my kid, too, had I not gone into the Games."

"Not really," I say, trying to ease his conscience. Plus the thought of being Prometheus' kid is…weird. "I mean, without my dad and my mom getting together, I'd just be wasted DNA."

"I still would've treated you like you were mine," Prometheus says. "When I found out Demi was pregnant, Gods, I was so happy…"

"And then you were drawn for sacrifice," I say, to which he nods. "And it wasn't safe."

"No. The Capital would've used Plutus and your mother against me like there was no tomorrow. Like I told you on the train, Kore, they own us. Every single one of us."

"And you want it to change?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"Then why are we talking in a room that could be bugged?" I ask, raising a brow at him suspiciously.

In answer, Prometheus smirks. "Atlas spent a good amount of time in Tría after he won. Let's just say surveillance loops are his specialty. Yours and Artemis' rooms are safe for conversing. Anywhere else though, hold your tongue."

I blink. "Are you sure the two of you aren't _really_ Gods?"

Laughing, Prometheus dashes his cigarette out in a bowl on the table. "We're as human as you, kid."

"Right," I murmur, finished brushing my hair so I set the brush on the table and begin to braid the strands absentmindedly. "So I see you've already gotten my nickname out there?"

"Gave a tip to the local news department," he says, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. "You're officially Elláda's sweetheart, just as sure as the twins are the awe-inspiring savages. While you're a peach, they're a lime. It'll make an alliance the crowds will go wild for."

"And what about…_sponsors_?" He knows what I mean in the way I say the word, curling in on myself a bit and sighing as if it leaves a bad taste on my tongue.

"I'm only going to resort to that _if_ you don't get any sponsors for your general appeal, Kore. If you keep rank in the favorites and impress the Gamesmakers enough to get a decent score, maybe it won't come down to that," Prometheus says, staring out the window. He isn't actually looking at the streets of the Capital though; last night I found that the window is made of holograms, and I changed it so the landscape looks like a lush meadow, overgrown with wildflowers. "Nice choice," he says, as if guessing my thoughts. "Demi still like flowers as much as I remember?"

"Yeah," I say. "She kind of passed on the trait."

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye then, gaze lingering. "You sure you're only sixteen?"

"You going to be making one of the bids for my innocence then?" I ask, no hesitance in the sentence.

He shrugs, giving me a lopsided sort of smirk. "If you want."

I reach out with my foot and kick him in the knee then, laughing when he curses at me, rubbing at the spot before beginning to chuckle right along with me. It isn't until the laughter dies down that I start to think seriously about what he's just said, and not so much about Prometheus himself, but the idea that people pay to have sex with the Victors like they're nothing more than a piece of meat. One would think that once you were given the title of a God, you'd be above such measures, but I guess not.

"The Capital really does own us then, doesn't it?" I ask, staring at him with sad eyes.

He nods, setting his hands on the table with a sigh. "Like I said, Kore, I wanted your mom and your brother too. But I couldn't; it wasn't my choice. Not once that final trumpet went off and they called my name, gave me the crown, the title, the glory."

"The _honor_," I mock. "Plutus used to say it was the honor of having to kiss the Capital's ass."

"In that," Prometheus says, taking out another cigarette, "he was completely right."

As he lights up, filling the room full of smoke, I stare at the meadow on the hologram screen, wondering how in a world where there can be such beauty and good, there can also be such violence and bad, too.

* * *

The next day in the training center, I'm sitting over in the survival unit tying knots and singing to myself when I feel a presence at my side and look up.

Hades hesitates for a moment before sitting next to me, eyes dark and blank as he looks at the knots my hands are forming. "What use is that?"

"Making nets to trap things," I tell him, glancing over to the archery station where Artemis and Apollo are once again stationed. A second ago they were bickering, but now they're both staring at Hades and me with questioning expressions. I turn away from them with a blush and look back at Hades, who is still watching my hands tie latch of rope after rope together.

"What were you singing, before I sat down?" he asks.

I gawk at him; blink when he gives me an expectant sort of look and then shrug. "A lullaby my mom taught me."

"What's it about?"

"Death," I say levelly. "I sang it to my brother when…" I trail off, shaking my head. Like hell I'm going to tell Hades about Plutus. "Never mind."

"When he died?" Hades asks emotionlessly, causing my hands to fumble and my eyes to snap up to meet his. For his part, the expression on his face is completely blank, while mine contorts into one of suspicion and anger.

"How did you know that?" I hiss.

"Hestia told me," he says, as if that makes bringing up Plutus okay. "How'd he die anyways? Heat stroke?"

"No," I say, turning back to my net. "It's none of your business, anyways."

"Fair enough," Hades says, and it is silent again as I continue to work. He doesn't get up to leave either, though it's clear I'm done talking to him. Instead he just keeps watching me, and when I dare to look at him out of the corner of my eyes it's to see he's studying me now, no longer the knots I'm tying.

"_What_?" I ask, venom dripping into my tone.

Turning to face him full-on now, I realize just how close his proximity is. There's a hair's breadth between us, enough so that I can see his eyes aren't completely black as I had originally thought, but rather a very, very dark gray. Despite the tan of his skin, there are freckles under his eyes, and there's a scar cutting from his lower lip and down his chin. His hair hangs in sweaty tendrils around his face, shaggy and out of place, and the muscles in his neck look strained, like he's nervous and trying.

The anger inside of me melts, and I let my expression soften, parting my lips before saying, "I didn't mean Hestia any harm, yesterday. Really, I didn't. I only tried to show her what she shouldn't touch in the arena, because she didn't know."

"She told me," Hades says after a moment, his eyes never leaving mine. "We're not going to ally with you though."

I give him a blank sort of look; I hadn't thought he would.

"I don't trust those twins you're with. Or that Pan kid. I'd watch my back around them, if I were you."

"And I suppose you have an opinion about Hebe, too?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him archaically.

Not getting my take at sarcasm, he says, "No. She's harmless, but not of much help."

"Well thank you oh knowledgeable one," I say, turning back to my knots and trying to secure one in place, but my fingers fumble and slip over each other.

"Here," Hades says, and before I can tell him _no_, he reaches out and secures the knot for me, untangling my fingers from the rope. There's a sharp shock where he touches me, causing both of us to pull our hands away quickly. "Thank you for helping Hestia," he says after a moment, clearing his throat awkwardly. He rises to his feet, and with one last glance at me, he says, "Good luck," and leaves.

That's when the twins assault me, giving all kinds of questions like _did he threaten you_ or _did he ask you if you wanted to come to his room tonight or something_ or _does he want to ally with us_ or _did he ask you anything about your underwear_? I shake my head at all of their questions, explaining to them briefly about how I helped Hestia a bit yesterday and he was just thanking me. They don't much need to know anything else he said; it doesn't matter anyways.

The twins and I work in the combat area up until lunch, sitting together again with Hebe and Pan. The Demigods are all glaring at our table when I sit with my tray, the last one there because I dropped something while in line and insisted I help the servant clean it up; it didn't feel right letting someone else do it for me when I'd been the one to make the mess.

"Why are they looking over here?" I whisper to everyone at the table, trying to keep my voice as low as possible.

"Didn't you hear?" Apollo asks, giving me an incredulous sort of look. "You've moved into the top five of the favorites poll, Kore."

"_What_?" I ask, eyes going wide. "But I was still number eight yesterday. What am I now?"

"Three," Hebe says next to me matter-of-factly. "You're right behind Zeus and Hera from Énas. You took Ares' place."

"Great," I sigh, setting my face in my hands. "Because the guy didn't already hate me enough."

The rest of the day continues in a tiring fashion. I finish my net, teach Hebe about which plants not to eat, find myself overly surprised to see Pan knows how to use camouflage so well he basically disappears into his environment, try to climb ropes and fail miserably with the twins, go back up to the Énteka's republic department and have dinner.

Prometheus doesn't come to my room that night, and so I curl up on my side in bed and stare at the hologram of the meadow in my window, homesick and resisting the urge to cry. I realize that I haven't shed a single tear since the moment my name was drawn, and I don't plan to. I won't give the Capital the liberty of breaking me. Plutus never screamed once while they were whipping him; he held his head high until safely home. And I will do the same.

* * *

On the third day of training, I make a big mistake.

It's not that I'm meaning to or anything, but the instructors are all hell-bent to break up the little circles everyone has been in sync with since the first day. They split the Demigods apart, as well as the middle districts, and the little group I've found myself housed in. While Hebe and Pan are sent off to the archery station, Apollo is sat at the survival skills station, and Artemis the sword fighting station, a heavy scowl on her face as she'd earlier admitted to _hating_ the weapons with a passion.

I'm thrown into the combat ring again, and of course my competitor is none other than the boy from Dyo, Ares. It's evident on his face that he still hates me, probably more so today because I've held my rank as number three in the favorites poll. I want to say I have nothing to do with it and that it's not my fault that my mentor had a thing for my mom and had a kid with her that got killed so he feels like he owes it my family to make sure I come home to them, but that'd be a really dumb thing to say. Plus, I'm not going to be a coward that tries to back out of this.

If he kills me before the Games, at least it saves the others the trouble.

The instructor for the combat ring is a burly man with a scraggly beard that obviously does not care that Ares is three times my size and has an apparent personal vendetta against. He squares us off in our respective corners of the ring, telling us not to inflict any serious damage to one another, and to save it for the real Games. _Tell that to Ares,_ I think, noticing the boy's blood-lusting expression. And just as I am about to give up all my morals and tuck tail and run at realizing I'm probably about to get my ass kicked _bad_, the instructor calls _fight_ and it's too late.

I give Ares a wide-eyed expression, staying in my corner of the ring as he blatantly charges me. All those years of wrestling with Plutus suddenly snap into instinct and I quickly jump out of Ares' way, causing him to tumble off the mat. The others at our station laugh at him, causing his face to turn red and his anger to swell.

_Oh Gods._

When he charges at me again, I ball my hands into fists and quickly strike out, nailing him right in the nose before ducking under his swooping arms. While my frame is substantial, I'm still pretty short, way shorter than him, so finding a way under his jabs is easier than expected.

Ares stops after I have punched him, and turns to face me again. His nose is bleeding, and it's evident in his eyes he's ready to kill me right now. Adrenaline spikes in my veins at the thought of it, and when he comes hulking toward me in an intimidating stance, I jump up and kick my leg out, nailing him in the chin with the side of my foot. I can hear his teeth _clack_ together, and blood begins to pour out of his mouth.

The tributes at our area, which were whooping and hollering for him before, go silent. Out of the corner of my eye I see a few tributes at other stations have stopped too, their eyes on Ares and me. It makes my breath rush out and distracts me long enough that when Ares comes at me again, I'm not ready for it.

He tackles me to the ground, all of the air rushing from my lungs. It reminds me of the first time Plutus did something like this to me when I was six; it was the day I learned quickly how to escape someone's grasp when they've got me on the ground. And with good reason too; every time I've fought someone stronger than me, be it Plutus or the occasional kid at school who got on my nerves, they always tried to use their strength against me and pin me down. But they never expect me to keep fighting once they've got me on the ground; Ares is no exception to that.

I suck in a deep breath, pulling my legs up from where they're stuck between the muscles of Ares' arms. The training suit I'm in is plenty flexible, so when I get my knees on either side of Ares head the movement is precise. And at the same time that I strike out with my elbows at the joints of his arms– which are holding him up and pinning me down– I also twist my knees locked around his head. The movement of my elbows pressing into the pressure points in his joints causes Ares' arms to buckle, while the force behind the twist of my knees demands Ares to throw himself off of me because of the sudden strain on his neck.

Without hesitance, I roll onto my side and stand back up, barely aware of the astounded murmurs of the other tributes as Ares stands, shaking his head. I realize then that some of the blood from his mouth has dripped down the side of my face, staining the top of my training uniform. It's all over his in spittle puddles, but he doesn't care. He's too enraged, throwing himself at me in one last attempt to get me down.

I strike at him then, punching him right in the Adam's apple. I know it's not enough to kill him, like hitting someone in the windpipe would– a tip given to me from Mom for when I traveled on the more dangerous sides of town– but it is enough to stun him and put him down on the ground, gasping for breath.

That's when the instructor finally calls time, and everyone in the room is staring at me. The Demigods most of all, though glowering would be the most appropriate term.

I swallow dryly, backing off of the mat and wiping blood from the side of my face. At least Prometheus will be pleased there's no injuries they'll have to try and cover before the Interviews in two days.

Sighing, I move away from the station and try to ignore the steadfast glares of the Demigods, or the scared stances of some of the other tributes. Artemis and Apollo are in no such state though; instead running up to me and giving a chorus of _amazing_ and _spectacular_ but I just kind of shrug them off. It's almost lunch time, and I'm hungry and a bit embarrassed and totally scared out of my mind, because I know I've just put a walking target on my back.

I've seen Ares at the other stations. While his brutality may not work against me in a strictly hand-to-hand manner, it will when he's thrusting a sword into my chest, or throwing a knife at my back, or, Gods forbid, bashing my head in with a rock. It's something I definitely wouldn't past him, that's for sure.

And the night gets even worse when I get back up to the holding apartment, being bombarded by Prometheus, as word from the event in the training center has spread. "Do _not_ let him near you," Prometheus says, his first words to me since breakfast when he asked me to pass him the butter.

"You're not mad?" I ask, instead of replying to his comment directly.

"Oh, I'm bloody _pissed_," he says. "But also bloody proud. That being said, you know what this means, right?"

"I have a target on my back?" I sigh, sinking down onto the sofa.

"Well, at least I can't call you a complete idiot," Prometheus says, sitting down next to me.

"I know I should've just let him pin me so I wouldn't draw attention, but you should've seen the look in his eyes, Prometheus. I thought he was going to rip out my spine and use it as a belt, or something!" Much like the rock thing, it's an act I wouldn't put Ares above.

Prometheus sighs, already has a cigarette out to ease his apprehension. "At least the news spread… Now the Gamesmakers have something extra to consider when you go to see them tomorrow."

"And I've got a direct enemy in the arena."

"Let's not dwell on it," Prometheus says, eyes moving to track Pan who has stepped off the elevator and gone into the kitchen area to get himself something to drink. "Eh, kid, you want a tip? You stay away from that Ares bloke too. His mentor's stated he's about five kinds of crazy."

"_Only_ five?" I scoff.

"It's more like twenty-bajillion," Pan says from where he's pouring orange juice into a glass, shocking both Prometheus and I that he's spoken. "I thought it was really cool, that Kore beat him."

"Thanks, Pan," I say, giving him a genuine smile. "I was really impressed with your camouflage the other day. That was amazing."

Pan's cheeks heat up at my comment, and Prometheus looks between the two of us and snorts, blowing smoke through his nose and looking much like a grumpy, old bull. "Enough with the touchy-feely shit. You've got to interact with the Gamesmakers tomorrow, think you're ready for it?"

I look down at my hands in answer, frown. "Not at all," I say.

"Yeah," Prometheus says. "Well you'd better hurry up and get on it then, Kore. If you've already got a target on your back, then you need a high score. Make that boy fear you more; and maybe, just maybe you'll keep your head."

Blinking, I rub a hand over my face anxiously. Gods, I can only hope tomorrow won't be complete disaster.


	7. Exceeded Expectations

**A/N**: hey everyone; this is kind of a short chapter, but I thought the stopping point was right. Thank you for all of your encouragement so far! Have some drunken Prometheus as a way of me showing my gratitude (/^-^)/

* * *

My hands are shaking.

I've been sitting in the room outside of the training center for hours, waiting for the other tributes to have their turns with the Gamesmakers. At first, I had the company of Artemis and Apollo, but eventually it was their turn. Hebe's, too.

Pan has been silent this entire time. He looks like a scared rabbit, about to be cornered by a hungry fox. At one point I set my hand on his arm gingerly, and he jumps from his seat. "You're going to do fine," I tell him, but it's obvious that he doesn't believe me.

When they call him in, no name, just _Male Tribute of Énteka_, he stands and almost buckles under his own weight, going into the training center with a _bang_ of the doors closing behind him. I stare at those doors for a bit, simply blinking. Last night Prometheus came into my room again; he told me to do everything I can to impress these people. He's convinced that me getting a high score is the only thing that will make Ares turn his head the other way during the bloodbath, instead going for the weaker children while I have a chance to run away.

A lump forms in my throat.

I haven't really a clue what I'm going to do; I know where the weapon I want sits, but past that, I've got nothing.

"Are you nervous, Kore?"

I turn to my right, little Hestia staring up at me with large, brown eyes and her bouncy curls. We haven't been allowed to speak to one another since that first day in the training center. Hades has kept close watch on her, even though I think he's realized I'm of no threat to his cousin. I won't kill her in the arena; I _won't_. Still, every time mine and Hestia's path were about to cross, Hades always steered her the other way.

"Yeah," I tell her, swallowing the dryness in my mouth. The insides of my throat feel of sandpaper and my voice is raspy. "Are you?"

She nods, biting her bottom lip and glancing at Hades who, for his part, is looking away as if the conversation between his cousin and I isn't happening. "I'm gonna be the last one; Hades goes before me. I'm gonna try and make a fire, real quick and all. I can make it blow up, if I want."

"Really?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "Your cape should have really been alight in the parade, then."

Giggling, Hestia turns once again to Hades. "He's gonna use swords," she says, hiking her thumb at him. And then she sighs. "I can't even hold one."

"Want to know a secret?" I ask, and she nods eagerly. "Neither can I."

This makes her smile go wide, and I can see Hades turn his head to finally look at us out of the corner of his eye. Or rather, look at me. I can't read his expression, but he doesn't seem mad that I'm talking to her. He seems…_puzzled_. Shrugging, I give him the lightest smile that I can before suddenly the doors to the training center burst open, Pan rushing out crying.

He makes a straight path toward the elevators before I can even ask what's wrong. I wouldn't have time anyways, because the Gamesmakers call for me: _Female Tribute of Énteka_. Is that what will be on my tombstone when I'm dead?

"You'll do great, Kore," Hestia says.

"You will too, sweetie," I tell her, ruffling her hair. I dare one last glance at Hades, and he gives me a solid nod of his head. A silent _good luck_ my way. I nod back, keeping eye contact with him before I turn on my heel and walk into the training center, trying not to jump when the doors slam closed behind me.

I stride into the middle of the room, where space has been cleared for the Gamesmakers to be able to clearly see the tributes. They're in a booth above me, talking quietly amongst themselves and looking overly bored. Blinking, I take one step towards them and announce my name in a clear, strong voice. Their eyes are on me, but they don't seem impressed.

Sighing, I turn my back to them and move to the weapons wrack, grabbing a scythe from it with a chain attached to the end. We use these back home to cut wheat, the chain mainly to make the scythe easy to carry. But sometimes Plutus and I would mess around with them after we were done in the fields for the day; it was a way to take the edge off of a boring day just to mess around with sharp things. We weren't really the smartest of kids about that kind of thing; too rebellious under the hand of a zealous mother who would have had a heart attack had she seen us.

With a deep breath, I let off a little of the chain in my hands so the scythe nears the floor, and then begin to spin it in a circle, slow at first before making the motion faster and faster. The metals become a blur at my side, and just as it seems dangerously close to cutting my person, I swing the chain forwards with a grunt, letting it run through my hands.

There are dummies across the mat from me. I hook the chain at an angle, slicing through the first one's neck until the head falls off. I land the blade into the chest plate of the second one, pulling it out in an instant and bringing the end of the scythe back into my hand. The Gamesmakers mumble above me, but I'm not done yet.

Not even close.

Spinning my body, I let the scythe fly out again, hooking a dummy and pulling it forwards to the floor. I wrap the chain around my wrist and manage a kick with my foot down onto it, dragging the chain away and bringing the dummy's arm off with a loud _rip_. Then I take the scythe back again, being showy because now that I've got the feel of it I can. I swing it in an ark on either side of my body, crisscross in the middle, tossing it towards the rafters above my head with a resounding _thwack_ and swinging forwards on the chain, so that I'm able to flip fluidly, landing on the last standing dummy and taking it down, bringing the excess chain in my hand to wrap it around the dummy's throat as if to strangle it, pulling tight.

And then I stand, give one look to the Gamesmakers and bow despite myself. They look…_pleased_. A small round of claps and I turn to leave the room, but not before I catch a servant come in to take the scythe out of the rafter, but they can't seem to make it budge because the thing is stuck into the wood so strongly. Years of swinging from trees with Plutus have made that happen; we used to see who could make the deepest imprint in the trunks. I won a lot.

When I walk out of the room, Hestia smiles at me. I smile back at her, because I feel good. What I did in there wasn't amazing or anything, but it was good. I'm not stupid; I know it was dangerous and yet I did it without so much as a change of passive expression on my face.

I walk to the elevators with a lazy step, taking one up to Énteka's apartment and facing everyone waiting on the couch eagerly when the doors open, stylists and all. Iris and Nyx bombard me with questions, while Prometheus gives a raise of a brow. _How'd you do?_ he silently asks, and I smirk at him, which eases his obvious anxiety as he settles back on the couch and takes a gulp from a glass of glowing, milky liquid in his hands. _Ambrosia_, I realize; he's obviously set out to be drunk, then.

"Pan has himself locked in his room," Iris says, waving her posh hand flippantly. "Skittish little child; he doesn't have a chance."

Her words are extra harsh, causing me to glare at her. She doesn't seem to notice though, instead spouting off that she can't wait for the results to air on television after dinner.

The meal itself is quiet. Pan isn't really eating, instead staring down at his plate. Every time I try to talk to him, he doesn't even look up. It makes me feel a bit ineffectual; it's always been my job growing up to make my siblings happy, and not being able to make another child happy kind of sucks. I'm half tempted to start hitting the ambrosia as heavily as Prometheus is.

When dinner is over, the ratings come on television. Everyone crowds around the screen, Prometheus having sat me between him and Nyx. His arm is across my shoulders on the back of the couch. It feels warm and weird and I can see Iris eyeing us suspiciously. At least I know that Prometheus is drunk from the ambrosia and doesn't really know what he's doing. Iris probably just connects it back to the fact the man comes into my room late at night, the door closed for hours at a time. And that since I'm in his constant company, I've started smelling like smoke the way he does.

I don't really care. Let her think what she wants; she'd probably bid me away for a nickel if someone offered, anyways.

Various tributes flash on screen. The male from Énas scores an eight. Ares from Dyo gets a seven. The boy with the lame leg from Tría– name shown to be Hephaestus– surprisingly scores an eight. There are a few other high numbers, Artemis and Apollo both receiving an equal nine. And then comes Énteka's turn. Pan pales as his face comes onto the screen, flashing with a minimal five.

I'm about to turn to him and say it doesn't really mean anything, even though we both know that's not true, but then my picture flashes on screen. _Kore Hagne: 10._ My eyes go wide; it's the highest score received so far. And before I know what's happening, Prometheus is kissing me on the mouth with a big _mwa_ sound from it. He reeks of the sugary smell of ambrosia and I push him away, patting his shoulder softly and telling him to take it down a notch.

Everyone rolls their eyes at the antic.

Nyx tells me congratulations, as does her partnering stylist, Erebus. Iris hugs me. I look to Pan to tell him good job, just so he can get some recognition, but it's only to find he's _glaring_ at me. I blink, turning away from him and staring at the screen in confusion. Why is he so mad at me? I understand he got a low score, but that isn't my fault…

Hades' picture comes on screen and distracts me for a moment, the lilt of his dark eyes and shadows across his face not doing him justice; he receives an eight. And then little Hestia is shown, and everyone in the room goes silent as her score flashes.

_Hestia Prytaneum: 12_.

"Holy shit," I say, before I can stop myself.

"Kore, _language_!" Iris snaps.

"She got a _twelve_!" I say. "That's _amazing_!"

"No," says Prometheus, seeming serious even in his drunken state. "It's dangerous. You should know better than to say somethin' like that, Demi."

"Demi?" Iris asks, raising her eyebrow.

"Middle name," I lie easily, and everyone is so busy being shocked over little Hestia's score that they don't question it.

One by one, they announce their amazement. Just as one by one they begin to wind down, telling everyone goodnight and going their respective ways, the stylists to their own apartments in the city, Iris to her bedroom, Pan to his. Until eventually it's just Prometheus and I, and the constant servant girl we've had from day one who stands by at the elevator doors. I like her a lot; she has humorous expressions and knows when to turn her head the other way, acting as if she hasn't heard the almost traitorous words Prometheus and I often speak back and forth. I wish I could know her name, but she has not the tongue to utter it.

"You did good, kid," Prometheus slurs, drawing my attention as he drinks more ambrosia from his cup. I reach out and grab it away from him. "Hey–"

"You've had more than enough. What, you trying to kill your liver instead of your lungs now?"

"Only drinkin' cause I was worried," he says, settling back into the couch sloppily. "But you exceeded expectations."

"Then why was Pan glaring at me?" I ask softly, still stung from the boy's actions.

Prometheus raises an eyebrow archaically. "Isn't it obvious?" he asks, taking out a cigarette and trying but failing to light it. I strike the match for him and he thanks me, taking in a deep breath of smoke before saying, "Not only do you have all the attention from the mentor, but now you're going to get all the sponsors for your republic too. He's finally starting to realize how little of a chance he's got, and how much of one you got."

At the processing of the words, instant guilt hits me. Prometheus is right; with my score all of the looking at our republic sponsors will turn to me. The tribute they'll place bets on to win from my Énteka is me. And poor Pan will be left to his own devices.

"I wonder how that squirt got a twelve though. Mangy looking little thing, ain't she?" Prometheus asks, dashing his cigarette out on the top of the coffee table, leaning back and slipping down the couch.

"She said she was going to make a fire and blow it up," I mumble, causing him to turn and look at me with a disapproving expression.

"You talked to her?"

"Once or twice."

"_Kore_," Prometheus groans, falling over in his seat now so his head lands next my thigh. "You can't go getting attached to people you're gonna have to kill!"

I swat his hand away as he reaches out to grab my leg and shake it for emphasis. "Stop that! And I'm not attached. It's fine."

It really is fine; I'm okay with dying for her. At least I think I am. And it's not like I really have to contend with her anyways. I'll go my separate way with Artemis and Apollo and more than likely Hebe now too, and Hades will look after Hestia. She isn't my responsibility, and hopefully one of us will be dead before we have to kill each other.

"Sure, sure," Prometheus says, yawning louder than necessary. "Just keep your heart in your chest and not all bloody at other people's feet, kid."

"Yeah," I say, taking in his words and realizing how right they could be. "Okay."


	8. Limelight

"I can't breathe."

"Oh, honey, that's how it's _supposed_ to feel."

Blinking, I give Calliope a sort of glare I'm not sure looks like one under all of the makeup caked onto my eyes. The stylist have outlines them in a deep, smoky gold that sparkles under the light. My lashes are longer than they were in the parade; there are jewels in the corners of my eyes. To top it off, they've sketched golden flowers lightly onto my cheekbones, and rouged my lips the color of pomegranates. My hair's been put into a beautiful chignon and there's a crown of golden and white flowers weaved into the style.

It all feels too elaborate for the Games Interviews all of the tributes must participate in today. I'm not nearly as beautiful as half the girls from the Demigods' republics, nor as alluring as Artemis. All this glitz and glam is very…unsettling. There's more of it than there was during the parade. Nyx had said I'd still feel like me by the end of this, but I don't.

Sighing, I keep my hands gripped to the bar in front of me as the stylists pull the strings of the corset around my waist tighter. More air escapes from my lungs and I cough. It's all in preparation for the dress Nyx has made me, her three stylist hens cluck.

When said dress is brought before me, I can't help but admit that it is beautiful. Like the one I wore during the parade, there are golden flowers embroidered into the fabric, only this time it's made of a wispy white tulle, and from mid-thigh down it is almost see-through.

"We're to leave your feet bare," Nyx says, adjusting the hems around my hips. "More in tune with nature. This white looks absolutely lovely against your skin, as I thought it would."

"Thanks," I say softly, looking down at my buffered flesh, feeling so stiff and tight and shined.

"You look like a maiden any person would want," comes a voice from the doorway of the stylist pod, Prometheus striding in confidently, cigarette between his lips. Any signs of the hangover he was wearing this morning are gone. "Remember the shtick we talked about?"

"Yes," I sigh, give a startled '_umph_' when the stylist hens come to pat a layer of shimmering powder over my face. "But is all of this really necessary?"

Prometheus looks to Nyx for the answer, and the woman simply nods while adjusting my dress to perfection. "The cameras will be all over you tonight," Nyx murmurs, stars in her eyes shining. "Especially since you're still number three on the favorites poll; make no mistake Hermes will be talking about this. And about your score from the training center."

"And you'll be aloof about it," Prometheus says, as if he hasn't gone over these instructions with me a hundred times before. "Just as you will be when they ask you anything about Plutus." He's more than sure the Capital will want to dig at the fact my brother was punished as a traitor; died because of it. I've been rehearsed again and again not to let my hate for the Capital show because of the fact. I will act as if I think that Plutus deserved it. I am as loyal to the Capital as they come; at least I am if I want to get some sponsors, maybe stay alive, anyways.

"Yes, sir," I mumble, barely looking at myself when Nyx turns me so I may see my full appearance in the mirrored wall that runs the west length of the styling pod. I don't want to see myself, not really, but then I make the mistake of taking a quick glance up and catch my breath.

Somehow they have made me look as if I am made of porcelain and gold; I look like a true Goddess, one made of purity and danger and fear.

Before I can help myself I whisper, "Oh," just as Calliope weaves the last of the orchids for my flowered crown into my hair.

"You look spectacular dear," Clio says, setting her hands on her plump hips.

"Simply brilliant," says Thalia, the one with the purple hair who's name I just learned today when Calliope started yelling at her for painting my nails gold instead of the nude color Nyx had originally given plan for; the beds still hurt from being scrubbed clean with polish remover.

Prometheus sets a hand on my shoulder then, gives an appraising eye as he leans in to whisper in my ear, "As radiant as spring," making me shiver and blush, the color alight under the flowers on my cheeks.

* * *

My hands shake. We are standing backstage of the interview deck, where Hermes Caduceus– one of the official coverage announcers of the Capital– is animatedly talking with the female tribute from Déka. _Theia_, I remember Pan to have said her name is.

Thinking of Pan, I glance to where he stands off to my left. He is shaking just as much as I am, his chiton draped around his tiny hips in puddles. There are gold sprigs of sage in his hair, which is curled in a crazy and childish manner. Nyx had mentioned as much as Erebus trying to play up Pan's young age, in hopes the sponsors will take sympathy upon him.

He's still mad at me from last night, as he probably should be. I am dashing his chances minute by minute. When he saw me step out of the styling hall and back here with the rest of the tributes, all eyes moving to me, his face turned hot and he looked down with a sigh.

I still can't help but feel guilty for it. I know he is my competition and I'm supposed to kill him in that arena if it comes down to it, but he is just so _young_. And he is basically one of my own.

Hades and Hestia– the only tributes left backstage for the interviews besides Pan and I– watch me with caution as I go to stand closer to Pan. Neither have said a word to me since I walked in (only Artemis, Apollo and Hebe were not giving me looks of disdain or ignoring me completely like the rest of the tributes) but it's probably just as well because we're going to be expected to kill each other in the arena tomorrow when the Games begin.

Taking a deep breath, I go to kneel in front of the boy. "Pan," I say, even though he won't look at me. "It's okay if you hate me; I understand. I do. I just want to say that I think you're going to do okay at the interview; just smile a lot and go along with Hermes' jokes." I am giving him advice Prometheus gave me and I can feel the old man scowling at my back from where he stands in idle chatter with the stylists from Énteka, as well as the mentor and stylists from Dódeka, too. _Getting information on the enemy_, as he always winks. "Don't be too nervous; it's only three minutes."

And as if to affirm my statement, the buzzer for Theia's interview goes off, signaling her time is up. Hermes gives her a warm farewell, and then Pan's name is called. Before he goes up on the stage, guards waiting for him to do so impatiently at the steps, Pan takes one last look back at me, blinking. "I just wanna go home," he says.

My heart breaks.

"So do I," I tell him, because I can't say _I'll help you get there_. I can't. "You're up." I give him a soft smile, a little nudge. "You can do this."

He doesn't look like he believes me, but he goes up anyways, the guards at the steps rolling their eyes at the boy's quivering limbs. Hermes gives Pan a grand welcome, shaking the boy's hand. I can see it on the screen on the wall, the one that gives full view of the stage instead of just the side glance the location I'm standing in does. The crowd _awes_ appropriately at Pan's blush from the greeting and I do my best to contain the sudden sob forming in my throat.

I want to save him, I realize with despair. I want to save _all_ of them. These children shouldn't die under the Capital's dirty hands. It isn't right; it isn't fair. Why are we paying for Dekatría's mistakes? That was so very long ago. Why does the Capital continue to enslave us and force us to fight to the death? They don't need any more order or control. They already have so much of it. Enough the republics starve and rot and work themselves to the bone. Enough that there's the risk of being drawn at altar over and over and _over_. Enough that you cannot walk the streets without fear of slip of tongue and being whipped to death. Like Plutus; they killed my brother with all of this power they carry. Kept him from ever knowing his real father; killed the father I could call my own. And the next, even after.

And now they're going to kill me too.

I hiccup to disguise the outrage and the panic; bite down on my tongue until I taste blood. It is the gentle hand on my shoulder that finally causes me to make sound. A soft yelp that draws the mentors' and the stylists' attention, but they don't intervene when I turn to face Hades, eyes round and wide.

"You can't do anything about it," Hades says after a moment of simply staring at me, the darkness and hate in his expression evident. I realize quickly that it is aimed toward the Capital and not me. "None of us can."

"We can get Hesita home," I say without thinking, because if I had to choose anyone to live it would be her. Pan is a part of my people, but little Hestia looks too much like Despoina I can't bear the thought of her dying; I would pick her over him when it comes down to it.

Something in Hades' expression flashes and he glances back to his cousin, ten feet away and acting like she isn't trying to listen to us like he probably told her to do even though it's obvious she is anyways by the way she teeters on her small feet with the strain of trying to hear. "Would you really do that?" Hades asks me, the skepticism in his expression apparent. "Why not save yourself?"

"She's more important," I say and I believe myself fully when the statement comes out of my mouth. She's good and innocent and pure and the only thing I can go back to is a broken, overprotective mother who died probably before I was born if I'm honest; probably when Prometheus' name was drawn. That was the tipping point and she's had nowhere to go but down. She'll take good care of my siblings anyways; I'm sure Charon will help. He was always happy to help. I selfishly want more than living in fear like this the rest of my life; I want freedom and my brother back. I'll never be a good example for my siblings. I'd just get them killed. "She's better than the both of us," I say to Hades, just to reaffirm myself.

I can see Prometheus coming forward then, as if he senses the decision in my stance. He's going to try and tell me different. Try and tell me to save myself because he couldn't save Plutus and he owes it to my mother to bring me home. He owes her nothing; he did his best to keep Plutus safe. It was my idiot brother opening his big, stupid mouth that got him killed– his own fault and not Prometheus'.

And I won't go against everything Plutus ever stood for and win these Games and pretend to be happy about it and be worshipped at temple like some Goddess when my praise would be built on blood. Hebe's blood. Pan's blood. Hestia's blood. Plutus', when it came down to the string of things.

I won't do that.

"You better get back to Hestia," I finally tell Hades with a maddened smile, shoving his hand off of me just as Prometheus reaches us.

"What are you two up to?" my mentor asks, a cigarette hanging dangerously between his teeth. By now the mentor from Dódeka has come up next to us too. Morpheus, God of dreams because he killed competitors in their sleep before finally taking the title.

"Just wishing each other luck," I lie. "Right, Hades?"

The boy looks confused a moment, before his expression slips into the neutral mask I am used to seeing him wear. "Yeah. Good luck, Kore," he says and turns to Morpheus, who leads him back over to Hestia. But what his words really mean are _is your promise true?_ and I catch his dark gaze and nod, when it's finally my turn to go on stage.

The lights are blinding once I take the first steps; the guards there have to hold the sides of my legs to keep me from stumbling. My bare feet _smack_ against the wood of the stage once I finally get my bearings. Hermes offers me a sympathetic hand, a megawatt smile on his lips. He's a short, slender man with slightly blue-tinged skin, dark curls of hair, and he's always wearing a messenger's cap. He likes to joke it's because he's got important news to tell, but we all know it's because the middle of his head is balding underneath. He also carries a staff with him which he often leans on gracefully; it's got a serpent slithering up the gold of it, his family's crest.

"Kore Hagne, ladies and gentleman!" he booms in that famous Capital accent of his. The crowd goes wild, and for a moment I'm caught in the limelight of it, limbs going still. Then I can feel Prometheus glaring expectantly at my back and an innocent smile lights up my face; I wave to the crowd with the grace of both a woman and a child.

They're absolutely ravenous.

Hermes helps me sit then, and I cross my legs demurely at the ankles like I was told to, leaning forwards in my seat with child-like wonder. "Wow," I giggle as Hermes takes his own seat. "This is so amazing."

The crowd laughs at my cheeky smile, as does Hermes. "I take it you're not used to fanfare then, Kore?" he asks, crossing his legs in an easy manner. His tone makes it feel like I'm talking to an old friend, inviting me in and trying to put my nerves at ease.

"Oh no," I say, falsely widening my eyes. "Back home, I just pick flowers all day. No one ever _cheers_ for me!"

"Flowers, really?" Hermes asks, resting his arm on the edge of his chair and setting his chin on his open palm. "I take it you like them, if your outfits during your time here have said anything?"

"Oh yes," I say, nodding with enthusiasm. "My mother is a florist; I've grown up with them all my life!"

"Hmm," Hermes says happily. "Speaking of your family, I just wanted to offer my sympathies at hearing of the passing of your brother last year."

_It was almost two years ago; of course he wouldn't get the time right._

But making the death seem more recent draws the crowd's sympathy, a grievous murmur wondering through the onlookers.

I make my expression fall then, bite my lower lip and nod slowly, giving a sniffle for effect. "I miss him," I say, then tangle my fingers together and look into the camera before the subject can be drawn out further, like I've been taught to do. "But I understand why what happened, happened."

"I see," says Hermes, catching on that the subject should not be lingered upon. "But the rest of your family, they are in good health I hope?"

I perk up, a child not dwelling on loss. "Oh, yes! I have a baby sister and brother, and Mama is sitting at home with them right now watching us. And oh, wait that reminds me, _hi_ Despoina!" I say, giving a sudden wave at the cameras, then blush and plop my hand back in my lap abruptly. "Sorry; I promised her I'd do that."

Hermes and the crowd laugh, enthralled. "You seem to be quite the peach, Kore. Tell me, how does such a sweet girl like you score a ten when meeting with the Gamesmakers?"

I was expecting this question. I hear Prometheus' voice in my head and let my eyes drop, shaking my head. "That's a secret," I say softly. "If I told you, then things wouldn't be very fun anymore. How else am I supposed to surprise everyone?"

"Oh, come on!" Hermes cries, and the crowd does too. "Can't you give us even a little hint?"

"Well…" I drawl, looking to the crowd and then back to him. "Okay, but only if you promise not to tell."

"Oh, well of course not," Hermes chuckles. "Mum's the word, right everyone?" The crows hollers enthusiastically back. "Come on Kore, we're _dying_ to know!"

"I'm real good with my hands," I say after a hesitant moment, an alluring yet innocent smirk curling at the corners of my lips. "I know a lot tricks with sharp things."

"Really?" Hermes asks in fascination. "Such a pretty girl like you? Who'd have thought? But, tell me, Kore, aren't the boys just falling over themselves to get your attention back home?"

I don't even have to fake the blush that rises to my cheeks. "Oh, _no_," I say emphatically, the crowd giving a small murmur. "My mama would _never_ allow such a thing! She calls me her little flower, you see. She's very protective of me."

"As she should be!" Hermes says, nodding. "You're such a sweetling. And I can see where you get your nickname from. Elláda's little maiden, isn't that right folks?" The crowd cheers. "Maybe that's why you're number three on the favorites poll."

"Oh, my!" I say. "That _still_ shocks me! I'm so very flattered!" I give a glance to the crowd and then blow a kiss. They all fall over themselves trying to catch it. "Thank you so much, everyone. I am very honored by you all."

"And hopefully you'll be honored by more!" calls Hermes. "Why, when you stepped on this stage you looked just like a Goddess! And what a great one you would make, isn't that right folks?" A round of applause. "I've got my bets on you, Kore."

I really, really don't like the twinkle in his eye when he says that.

But I smile nonetheless, bite my lip. "Thank you! That means so much."

Hermes nods, is about to ask another question when the buzzer goes off. His face looks crestfallen, and the crowd gives a shocked wave of disapproval. "Oh boo," says Hermes. "It looks like we shall have to let you go for now, little maiden. But– and I think this comes from everyone when I say– I surely wish the Fates ever in your favor!"

"Thank you," I say, standing in a graceful manner as Hermes reaches out to shake my hand.

"Kore Hagne, everyone!"

They cheer, I bow, and it's done.

I stumble off the other end of the stage, Prometheus right there waiting for me. He bats the guards' hands away as they try to assist me down the steps, throwing his arms around my frame and spinning me in a circle. "You were _brilliant_!" he says triumphantly.

"I don't feel brilliant," I say, because instead I feel a little sick, like I might throw up. The awe is gone and in its place has settled nausea.

"Well you were," says Prometheus, smoothing errant curls back away from my face. "So much so I am willing to overlook your little promise to Hades you made back there."

A stark panic hits my chest, but I do my best to control my expression as I say, "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't, Kore," Prometheus says with an easy smile, looping his arm around my waist almost possessively as he drags me toward the exit door.

I can hear the crowd cheering as Hermes announces Hades' name behind me.

"You're not making good on it," Prometheus says, drawing my attention back. The look in his eyes is deadly serious, and I think for a second he no longer smells of smoke but blood. "I'm getting you out of these Games alive, you hear me?"

"Yes sir," I murmur, but one look at Hades' sly face on the monitor screens and I know, I just _know_ I won't break my promise to him.

But I smile at Prometheus none the same, let him take me back to the elevators that will bring us up to the apartment where we'll drink and celebrate and watch the recaps with his arm never leaving my waist until I will be left to shiver and sob and stare in my room all alone as I realize that tomorrow the Games begin.


	9. The Time for Fight

**A/N**: hey everyone. love to know what you think of everything so far. any comments or suggestions are appreciated!

* * *

"Look at me, Kore… _Kore_."

I blink; turn myself to face Prometheus with a blank sort of expression. Because today's the day. Today the Games begin. I'll be thrown into the arena and forced to kill if I want to live. Kill _children_. Innocent children who have committed no sin except being brainwashed by the Capital into thinking that these ignorant Games are the only thing that will keep Elláda at peace.

The back of my throat is burning, and I think I may be sick.

"You're going to do this," says Prometheus, taking my face in his hands. His nose almost touches mine, we are so close now. I can see the desperation in his eyes, the sheer loss written there for everything that has turned wrong in his life. "Please, promise me you'll at least _try_."

"I told Despoina I would," I say nonchalantly, try and give him a smile but all it comes off as is split teeth. The stylist hens wanted to fix their crookedness and my slight gap initially, but Nyx objected when I gave her a look of utter horror. Now I think maybe I should have just let them go through with it. I don't feel like myself at all, so why should I look like me either?

Prometheus shakes his head. "That's not good enough. Promise _me_."

"Why do you care so much anyway?" I ask, glancing down at my hands all folded and tangled in my lap. "Just 'cause you loved my mom–"

"I love you too." He says it so fluidly, so quickly, that my eyes snap up and I cannot wipe the startled look from my face. "You're so like her– your mother," he explains, voice having gone soft. We're in my room alone, so I don't know why he feels the need to whisper, but I don't much care either. "You're so beautiful, Kore." His grip loosens on my face, one hand dropping so he can stroke my bottom lip with his thumb. "You're everything I could've wanted in a daughter," he says, but the look in his eyes is a step above parental affection. I don't know how to interpret that, so I say nothing and continue to stare at him, shocked. "I may not have been able to take care of Plutus, but I'm going to take care of you."

"You can't win the games for me," I say softly, fingers shaking as I feel him breathe against my mouth. Up close, he doesn't just smell like smoke but also wheat fields– that familiar scent of home and my heart aches. Are my mother and Despoina and Arion huddled around the television in the sitting room right now, watching miserably at the opening ceremony of the Games, President Cronus gracing the screen? Is Charon at home doing the same, his mother humming under her breath as she cross-stitches and his older brothers argue over who gets the last piece of cobbler as they always do the opening day of the Games?

"No, I can't win for you," says Prometheus in answer to me. "But I can help you. And you can help yourself."

"I'm not a killer," I say, my voice nearly lost in the silence of the room. "I can't kill the little kids in there, Prometheus."

"Then don't," he says. "Let them get picked off. But you _can_ kill the Demigods. You proved that when you took Ares down in combat training. Promise me you won't hesitate Kore– _promise me_."

The urgency I see in his gaze is so sublime, I can't help but say, "I promise."

A relieved breath escapes him then, and before I can even realize what he's doing, he's got his lips pressed to mine urgently, a harsh sort of kiss. I've never truly kissed a man before– except for the little fumble I had with him receiving my Gamesmakers score, which didn't much count– and I can feel tingles in my spine at the prospect this will be the first and probably last kiss of my life.

With that thought, I let my eyes slip closed and kiss him back, not with much passion, but with a desperate sort of enthusiasm because if this is going to be the only kiss I'll ever have, it may as well count.

Prometheus seems just as frantic as I am, if not more, hands tangled in my hair and tongue suddenly in my mouth. He has the slightest taste of ambrosia and cigarettes, and also the taste of honey from the rolls he ate for breakfast this morning. It reminds me of summer mornings in the shop, where Despoina and I would bake bread for lunch and Charon would wait at the counter and chatter about how he wished to be a ferryman at sea someday before we walked to school together.

Whimpering, I fist my fingers into the fabric of Prometheus' shirt. I'm terrified, I realize with a start. I'm terrified to the bone and I would gladly let this man push me back on the bed and take me if it meant to keep me here forever, out of the Games and the bloodshed. Even if I am just some substitute of my mother for him, some substitute of my dead brother, Prometheus is the last person I will ever see that loves me, and tears threaten behind my eyes at the thought.

He groans into my mouth then, stuffed in between my legs and rubbing up against me intimately. I swear I hear him say _Demeter_ under his breath, but I don't really care. I just let him finish with his kisses, tempering off with small, chaste ones at the edges of my mouth. He keeps his eyes closed and presses his forehead to mine when he's done, shaking his head only slightly with his hands still in my hair.

"I shouldn't have done that," he says after a moment, dark chuckle in his chest.

"But you did," I say.

"I did," he affirms, drawing away from me with this haunted sort of look. "You're going to live," he says.

"Are your kisses the kiss of luck, then?" I ask, mouth quirking up at the corners.

"Yes," he says, surprises me by kissing me once more. It's funny, how easy it is to kiss. Some sort of natural instinct that takes you over even when you feel nothing but hopelessness and fear in your gut. "I'll make a deal, when you win. I'm sure Atlas will lend a hand for the sum Cronus will want. I promise that no one else will touch you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I tell him knowingly. "Besides, that's a far way off. Worry about getting me sponsors for now. If thinking they get to deflower me or whatever makes them send me in something to eat when I start to starve, I'm game."

Prometheus chuckles, touches our noses together. "As practical as your mother."

My poor, sweet, overprotective, completely broken mother.

"If I die," I say, ignoring the defiant look in his eyes as I continue, "promise me you'll go see her? It would seem acceptable; I am your fallen tribute after all. See Pan's family too, to add distraction. Just…_see her_. Make sure Despoina and Arion are okay. _Please_?"

"Anything you want," Prometheus says, smoothing the hair out of my face. "But you aren't going to die, Kore. You're going to win."

The final kiss he gives me is one of goodbye, because I don't think he believes his own words, and neither do I.

* * *

"Where did you get this?" A tanned hand etched with galaxies holds up the narcissus pin I found in Charon's basket the day of Altar, the petals shining in the dim light.

Nyx and I are in a dark room somewhere, putting on my outfit for the Games. I was flown here in a hovercraft, all of the other tributes weary-eyed as myself. Prometheus said goodbye to me on the deck of the training center, touch lingering long enough everyone noticed the affection there. I didn't much care, keeping step with Pan as we walked to the hovercraft.

I was sat next to Hestia, who seemed even more nervous than me. Without thinking about it, I took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Artemis and Apollo shot me a weary glance from across the aisle but I shrugged. I knew Artemis would be hugging Hebe in the moment if she could anyways; they've grown close in the past days of training.

"What are they doing?" was the whisper that snapped me out of my silent rebuff with the twins, and I looked back to Hestia to see her eyes wide as servants walked down the aisle with needle-guns in their hands, injecting trackers into the tributes' veins.

"The Gamesmakers track us in the arena," I told her. "It won't hurt much, I promise."

It was then I noticed Hades on her other side, eyeing me wearily. His gaze lingered on my mouth, lips still swollen from the fervent kisses Prometheus had given me before we left Énteka's holding apartment. A bright blush formed on my cheeks and I looked down, only to glance back up as a servant took hold of my arm to inject the tracker in it. It stung, but not enough for me to really focus on it. I was too busy staring at the servant– a girl with wild red hair like the one back up in the apartment.

She hadn't been there before we left; I hadn't gotten to say goodbye and thank her for all of her help and the way she'd pretended not to listen to mine and Prometheus' private conversations.

That stung worse than the injection.

When the servant was done with me, she moved on to Hestia. I felt the girl tense, and told her to squeeze my hand as hard as she could if it would help. If the poor, little thing was this frightened of a needle, I couldn't imagine what would happen once we were in the arena. And I didn't want to. She squeezed my hand so hard her own knuckles turned white as she winced; I didn't complain.

Then it was Hades' turn, and the entire time he simply looked at me. I couldn't decipher anything in his expression, but it looked as if he was still trying to gage if what I had said the day before was really true or not. _It is_, I mouthed at him, and his eyes lit up in both surprise and what I would think to call _hope_.

I stared ahead at the wall the rest of the ride, letting Hestia hold my hand. Before we got off of the hovercraft, I turned to her and I said, "Good luck," and she smiled up at me and broke my heart. Then I took a moment to turn to Pan, who was undoing his seatbelt with shaking hands. I helped him, putting my own hand on his shoulder, reaffirming. There were no words, but I know he understood the look I gave him, the silent _I will not hurt you_ and he simply nodded at me before following the line off the hovercraft.

All tributes were led out of the deck and into a hall, each branching off into their own quarters to get ready. Before Hebe was dragged away, Artemis, Apollo and I sent her a look that said _remember the plan_. It hadn't taken much for us to all agree she would be our ally; we had told her to get into the forest the moment it was safe to step off the platform, and we would meet up with her. I was supposed to do the same, while Artemis and Apollo were headed straight for the bloodbath at the cornucopia. They were strong enough both Prometheus and Atlas were sure of them being able to get supplies for us quickly and efficiently without loss.

I grasped each of the twins' forearms in silent vow before they too left me, stole one last glance at Pan as he disappeared into a dark room with Erebus.

The little, lost boy was crying.

Just as I saw Nyx standing by the door I was intended to enter though, I felt a warm presence at my side. Hades leaned in, breath tickling my ear as he whispered, "I will not kill you, Kore Hagne."

"And I will keep my promise," I told him, before following Nyx into the dark.

Once inside, your eyes adjust to the light very easily. It's dim– a stone room with a simple table and station for the stylist to keep their supplies at. The hens aren't here, and I'm shocked to realize I'm sad I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to their overdramatic persons. Even Iris had hugged me goodbye before I boarded the hovercraft, though I know she isn't too fond of me since Prometheus sent all his attention my way and not hers. It's pretty easy to see how smitten she is for the man, though heavens know why. Probably just because he's a God; that's enough for most.

"It's a narcissus pin," I finally answer Nyx, shuffling around in my clothes uncomfortably. What they gave me to wear is quite startling, as far as Games go. Most contestants have special-tailored outfits to fit their personalities, but mine is actually very…_pretty_. It's practical, of course. But the draping of the water-resistant fabric is very flattering.

I'm wearing thick leggings which stretch to my every move, with ankle-bindings peeking out from sturdy boots that fit my feet perfectly, sure to cause no blistering or ache. Atop the leggings I wear a thick tunic, which cuts sort of like a skirt around my hips and thighs, yet hugs the dips of my waist as a shirt would. The sleeves are long, ends hidden beneath fingerless gloves that wrap around my wrists in support. On top of the tunic I wear a thicker sort of shrift, shaped like a corset with a flare at the hips. It is made of coarse leather and I know meant to keep me dry, if the hood attached to the back is any indication. There's a belt around my waist, fastened with a golden clasp.

The whole outfit is in varying shades of browns and deep greens, like a forest. There are a few other golden accents besides the belt clasp, like on the edges of my boots and corset– tiny flowers weaved in the color of wheat.

Nyx braids my hair intricately, pulling my bangs back from my face and wrapping everything together at the nape of my neck. The flowered crown she ties in is a surprise, and I realize with a start it's made of olive branch, with clover, small palm leaves, holly and nasturtium. It's a crown that stands for luck, for courage, for protection, for victory. There's a single white lily woven in as well– virtue. I am the Maiden of the Games, after all.

"This is from Dódeka," Nyx says with shock, fingering the narcissus pin curiously. "Wherever did you get this?"

"My friend Charon," I say softly. "I told him I'd wear it in the Games. Is that okay?"

"Of course," says Nyx, blinking as she fastens it to the collar of my corset. "Many tributes wear homages, as I'm sure you know. It's just…"

"Just?" I ask curiously, tilting my head.

"This is a symbol of some of the oldest families in Dódeka," says Nyx, tapping the pin. "My own family being one."

"Truly?" I ask with curiosity.

"Truly," she nods. "I would be honored for you to wear such a thing Kore Hagne, though do know, if you were to kill the tributes from Dódeka, it would be seen as very…_distasteful_ to the republic while wearing such a pin."

"I'm not going to kill them," I say, voice so sure Nyx looks up at me with bewilderment. I mean, the whole point of the Games _is_ to kill everyone else. "We've got a mutual..._understanding_," I say, choosing my words carefully as she had moment before, "that we're going to stay clear of each other and focus on the others."

"You have many alliances it seems," says Nyx, putting rouge on my cheeks with an expert hand. There's also gold on my eyes, making them into cat-like slits. She promises the paint will not wear off, unless I scrub at it excessively. When I asked if it will irritate my vision, she assured it wouldn't. "Smart girl. I knew Prometheus was right to step in this year. Énteka may have a Victor yet."

I blush, not because she is complimenting me but because I know the _real_ reason Prometheus became mentor this year. And I guess it doesn't help that I can still taste him– smoke and ambrosia and honey trapped on the edges of my mouth. Even the lip-balm Nyx applies does not cover the taste, which I am a bit thankful for. It can be something to ground me in the beginning– something to keep his words in my head and keep myself alive at least long enough to escape the blood bath.

"All finished," Nyx finally says, and when I stand from the metal table I have been sitting on, it is then I feel my lungs drop into my stomach, like gravity. "Don't be nervous," says Nyx, seeing the sudden hesitance in my eyes. "You no longer have time for that, Kore Hagne. Now is the time for fight."

I nod in answer to her, take a deep breath as she leads me to a glass cylinder in the corner of the room. I've been trying to steadfastly ignore the transportation-way since I walked in. I know it will lift me up into the arena. The time for the Games is drawing nearer and nearer, and with each passing second I can feel my heart threatening to tear from my chest.

"You can do this," Nyx assures as I step onto the platform in the cylinder. And invisible force encloses me inside, the door sealing with a _hiss_.

"Oh, Gods," I whisper, trying to swallow down bile.

"You can do this," repeats Nyx, the stars in her eyes showing me nothing but encouragement and praise. "You are the Maiden, Kore Hagne. You are the pure, the just, the _timeless_. You will survive."

Vaguely, I'm aware that a clock has begun to countdown from thirty in the background, already reaching _twenty-two _by the time Nyx has stopped talking. "Okay," I tell her.

She nods, very pleased with my acceptance of her speech. We stare at each other impassively then, until the countdown hits _fifteen_ and the platform I stand on begins to rise. Panic sets in, makes me shout out to her, "Tell Prometheus to remember his promise!" as my eyes fly around unsteadily. She looks startled from the outbreak, but nods solemnly all the same, easing the fears in my chest.

The platform continues to rise and I feel my breath come in gasps, eyes going wide as sudden light blinds me.

* * *

When I refocus again, I can see I am in the middle of a meadow filled with beautiful flowers. The cornucopia sits in the middle of it, a golden horn of deceit. Starjars chirp in the distance. There is forest all around, made of Judas, beech, chestnut, poplar, cypress, pine and aspen trees. I can smell sage and primrose, as well as taste the salt of the…_sea_? Way beyond the forest though is where my eyes focus. A mountain rises high, glorious and beautiful into the clouds. It looks like it is made of gold.

* * *

_Ten…nine…eight…_

* * *

Taking a deep breath, I look at the tributes laid out around me. One step off the platforms before the countdown and the landmines will blow us to pieces. Everyone either looks terrified or determined. I cannot find sight of Artemis or Apollo– they must be on the other side of the cornucopia– but it's then I notice Hebe two platforms away from me. I catch her bright eyes and give her a long, level look before glancing to the trees to her left. She nods, understanding.

Next to her, on my left, is the boy from Pénte, who is too entranced with the scenery to notice our silent conversation. And to my right is…_Ares_. I try not to let my eyes widen in fear as they would like to at the sight of him, golden and strong with tunic and leggings like mine, but stitched with spears of war. What would be a corset on a woman is a chest plate on him, made of the same thick leather. There is a sword stitched into the collar near his throat, and he leers at me with silent threat as the countdown continues.

Gathering all the courage I can, I sneer right back at him.

It's enough his brows knit together. _Why is she not afraid?_ I can see him thinking. Funny, because I am absolutely terrified.

* * *

_Three…two…one…_

* * *

I look up to the heavens, send a silent prayer to the Gods– _please, show me the way_– as the trumpets sound.

* * *

The Divinity Games have begun.


	10. Test Everything

_Take to cover._

That's what Prometheus had told me. He'd been almost certain that there would be some kind of forest in the arena, as had everyone else. In years where the Games have been flatlands, there have not been enough places to hide and so they are over quickly. With forests and mountains Games last longer because the tributes are able to get away from each other a bit easier, drawing the Games out and making for a better show.

I'm ready to run to the forest just as I was told, too. Right about the tails of Hebe who is much quicker than I would have thought, little body flying into the tree line before anyone can give her thought. I'm glad of that, because everyone else is ready for slaughter.

I only have time to give Hebe a fleeting glance though, because before I even know better, Ares is coming at me. There is maybe three yards between his platform and mine, and he's covering the distance fast for someone with such lumbering bulk.

"_Shit_."

My feet fly off the platform then, not for the trees because I can see two other Demigods lingering int that direction– they'd hold me there and let Ares break my neck. No, instead I run straight for the cornucopia, as I have not much other choice. Ares is a bit startled by the decision, probably having believed me to go for the forest after Hebe, but he keeps on my tail nonetheless.

_I'm giving him a chance to get a weapon to make me an easier kill,_ I think frantically, give a sudden right veer that has me sliding in the meadow grass. It's humid here, the blades slick with dew. Instantly I've already got stains on my leggings. But the low dive is enough to daunt Ares, as is my speed, and after a few scattered lunges and misses he loses interest in this game of cat and mouse because it's obvious I'm faster than him and slyer, so he gives a giant growl of annoyance and goes towards the cornucopia full-out where the other Demigods are, already slaying the children trying to get supplies.

There's blood spraying the side of the golden horn, but I haven't heard a trumpet yet so no one is dead. I hope to the Gods Artemis and Apollo are okay.

Panting, I race forwards, get my eyes back on the trees but not before I hear the squeal. I look off to the side with just a glance and see her, Hestia on the ground slipping and crawling through the grass as the boy from Éxi tries to go at her with bare hands.

_Where's Hades?_ I think with a sudden, protective anger as I turn course then. I will _not_ leave Hestia there alone, even if this does give Ares all the better chance to grab something sharp to throw at my head, which I'm sure he'll do if he sees I'm still in the open.

Just as I am a few yards from Hestia and the boy from Éxi, I can hear her name being called. The low register of the voice is obviously Hades. They must have been separated by the cornucopia and that's the only reason he's not here to help her now, then. _But I am,_ I think, and without hesitance I slam into the boy from Éxi. He's a small kind of scamp even though I heard he's one of the oldest of the tributes at nearly nineteen, like Hades himself. I might be short but I'm substantial and I throw him off-balance.

It makes him stagger, but then he's coming at me with intent to kill. _Stupid,_ I think as I spin my body quickly out of his reach. He goes flying past me and I kick him, in the ass. It makes him stumble and fall face-first into the dirt with a grunt.

While he's distracted, I move to Hestia who's got herself up on her feet by now. I notice her palms are scraped from falling. "He just came at me," she whimpers when she notices me staring. "I– are you going to kill me Kore?"

"No," I say hastily, shoving her toward the tree line. A trumpet goes off in the background– the first death. "But that boy will if you don't go. _Get out of here._"

"I have to find Hades," Hestia says stubbornly. We can both still hear him shouting for her, voice getting nearer now.

But the boy from Éxi is getting back up again, looking furious. "You get into those fucking trees _now_, Hestia," I say, all of the matron in my person showing through. Her eyes go wide. "I'll get Hades to you– _go_."

Luckily, she does as told, bolting for the trees nearly a hundred yards away. I turn my attentions back to the boy from Éxi who spits grass from between his teeth and charges at me once more. Something like a screech escapes me as he tries to grab for my arms, and instead I evade his blow and rake my nails into his face. Flesh tears off against my fingertips and he wails, blood running down my palm just as I see Hades running my way, looking frantic and desperate.

He's got two packs on his shoulders, and hold of a sword– is _that_ why he took so long? Why that stupid son of a bitch.

"She's in the trees!" I yell to him angrily, getting his wide-eyed attention. His gaze steadies on me a moment, on the boy from Éxi who's right back after me. I hear a scream in the background, and look frantically to the cornucopia where the Demigods are chasing strays, seeing the golden head of Ares as I narrowly evade the boy from Éxi, fear swelling in my chest.

It's like Hades doesn't even hesitate then. He runs straight towards me instead of after Hestia like I told him. _Idiot what are you doing go find her! _I let out a gasp as the boy from Éxi grabs tight to my arm in my distractions and tries to wrangle me into a chokehold, knowing that if he holds me for long enough Ares will come paying depts. I look back to Hades who is now so close, his eyes intent as he _runs the sword through the boy from Éxi's shoulder._

The boy lets out something like a scream, dropping me as blood sprays the back of my neck when Hades pulls the sword out. I stumble away, fall into Hades' chest. He catches me easily, casts one glance to the cornucopia and I know he knows what I'm thinking. "_Come on_," he says, tone commanding. The hand not holding his sword takes one of mine and we bolt for the trees then, steering in the path Hestia did. She's made cover by now, and another trumpet is crying in the background.

Did Hades' blow kill that boy, then?

He doesn't blink an eye at the sound, just keeps running. We make it to the trees quickly, ducking past branches. It doesn't take long for us to catch up to little Hestia, easily following her footprints in the foliage. She's hiding behind a bush when we get there, pops her little head out to smile at us. Hades lets go of my hand and goes straight to her, pulling her into a hug.

"She saved me," Hestia whispers to him, and I see his posture stiffen.

I let my eyes take in the world around us, alert and antsy at the blood running down my neck as Hades straightens and turns back to me. "I suppose I should thank you," he says.

A trumpet blares in the background, followed by another and another.

"I suppose I should thank you too," I tell him, my limbs beginning to shake.

_That's five._

He doesn't reply, simply shrugs one pack off his shoulder and throws it at me. I catch it with a loud _umph_ and cradle it to my chest, blinking. For a moment I do nothing with it, then open the zipper and look inside. There's a canteen, some rope, a small hunting knife– _thank the Gods_– something that looks like a package of food, a bottle of aspirin and a vial of brown with an eyedropper. _Iodine_, I realize with relief, used to clean unsafe water.

"Thank you," I tell Hades, and he nods, taking hold of Hestia's hand.

"Your twins went north," he says, pointing with his free hand in the direction of the mountains that can be seen above the tree line. "The boy from your republic went south though. That girl from Októ west."

"Hebe," I say in answer to the latter. "I need to find her. Artemis and Apollo will be fine together, but she's–"

"Don't go back to that meadow," Hades says, his blatant concern for me surprising. "That brute from Dyo will be on you like a hound to the hunt."

"He already tried," I sigh, pulling the pack around my shoulders. "I'm gonna circle around then, I guess."

Hades nods. "We're going to the mountain," he says, glancing down at Hestia who looks back up at him with big, startled eyes.

"Can't Kore come with?" she asks.

"No," Hades and I say at the same time, matching each other's glance. It's then I notice the dark rims around his eyes, charcoal black like war-paint. Hestia's eyes look much the same, but softer somehow. More innocent. Both their outfits are stitches with black thread instead of gold, Hestia's with pictures of fire and Hades' with a helmet of some sorts.

"I have to find my friend," I say to Hestia softly, to relax the harshness of both mine and Hades' tones. "I'm sorry I yelled at you back in the field, by the way. I was just worried."

"'t's okay," she mumbles, swinging her and Hades' connected hands sheepishly. "You saved me."

"Of course," I tell her, then look back to Hades with a soft smirk. "Always will."

* * *

We part ways after that.

Hades is noiseless as he moves, Hestia the same as her footfalls are light thanks to her small size. I am thankfully silent too, years of sneaking up on Plutus to tackle and fight him in the mud lending experience. I keep the knife out of the pack though; sheathe it in the belt around my waist just in case. I'm sure Ares saw the direction Hades and I ran toward, and him and his buddies would probably just love the chance to go for what they think is a two-for-one special.

For hours, I walk in a loop around the forest, heading north-west and keeping as silent as possible. I'd wager it's a good six hours by the false sun in the false sky before I begin to get really thirsty. Though there's a canteen in the pack Hades gave me, it didn't come equipped with water. I know I need to find a source soon because dehydration can become my greatest enemy here. It'll finish me just as soon as Ares does, and it'll be a slow, awful way to go.

It takes me another hour of walking before I feel the air grow more humid, bugs swarming through it. I listen tentatively, the telltale sound of a brook running in the distance. With a relieved sigh I all but sprint to it, stopping only once I reach its edge to kneel on the shore.

_Test everything_, I hear Prometheus say in my head. First I sniff for any signs of rot, then grab a leaf from a nearby tree and stick it in the stream. I don't know what it's really going to do, but for all I know the moment something makes a ripple in the stream a bunch of flesh-eating fish come out and attack me. Luckily nothing of the sort happens so I stick a finger in, then my hand. The water is cold against my sweaty skin.

I lift a small palm full of it to my mouth and take a sip, swishing and testing. Eventually I'm satisfied enough that it won't kill me and start taking greedy sips, filling my canteen and drinking the whole thing until my belly feels sloshy. I refill it and then take some time to wash the blood of the boy from Éxi off my neck, shivering not from the cold of the water.

Hades didn't have any hesitation when he stabbed that boy, and I realize with a soft sigh had I had the means of killing the boy from Éxi, I wouldn't have hesitated either. But I wonder if it really was Hades' blow that killed him or just someone else finishing him off in the end. It doesn't really matter, I wager. Hades knew he was probably going to kill the boy when he struck, and I was glad he did.

I told Prometheus I'm not a killer, but that will be a lie soon enough, I just know it.

I stay at the stream another couple of minutes, cooling my heated skin, before I hear it. It starts as a soft hum, like the workers do in the fields all day to ease their boredom. Then it turns to a brilliant melody, voices on the wind pretty and sweet. I perk up at that, look downstream where the water starts to twist and turn past rocks. Taking one last drink, I stand and stretch, listening as the melody grows louder and more…beckoning.

I blink, once, twice– and start walking to the source of the sound. My head suddenly feels foggy, but the music is so very sweet that it doesn't matter. I sway to it, hips twisting sensually as I take each dance of a step. There's a heat in my lower belly, making my breasts suddenly ache as well as the place between my legs and I don't know why. I dance and writhe trying to quench it, but knowing only the source of the music can really do so for me.

I'm probably five yards from the song– which seems to be coming from deep in a part of the stream past a damn of rocks– when a twig snaps in the distance.

I snap out of the fog of my mind then with an adrenaline rush of fight-or-flight, shake my head vigorously and duck into the underbrush at the side of stream, blinking and slapping myself on the face a couple of times. _What was that?_ It was like I wasn't even in control of my own feet. I had every intention of wading straight into the stream to find the source of that song, and Gods know how deep it is there. Whereas past the damn I could see the bottom, up here I can't.

Another twig snaps and I grow more alert, pulling the knife from my belt and moving into a protective sort of crouch. It only takes a minute or two for me to make out the form of a girl emerging from the forest. She's pale as snow, with hair black as night. Instantly I know her as the girl from Eptá– Chione, I think her name is.

Whereas I was able to gain control before walking into the stream, she isn't. I can still hear that calling song, but it is duller to me now. Chione seems entranced by it though, wading into the stream with sensual sways of her narrow hips. She's touching herself softly– swipes of her hands over her breasts, the curves of her waist...between her legs.

Gods, was _I_ doing that when I was walking this way? For the sake of my mother watching the Games back at home, I hope not. Though I'm sure Prometheus would've gotten a kick out of it had I been. Even with the taste of him long faded– replaced by terror and stream water– I still remember the kisses.

It takes Chione getting waist-deep in the water before the singing stops. She seems to come out of her trance slowly, but by then it's too late. With an inhuman hiss, these _things_ come scrabbling out of the water for her. There's three of them. They look like a cross between a fish and a woman, but more so fish with their hideous black eyes and gaping maws of mouths. One has fiery red hair, another ink black and the last sun blonde. They have breasts, but along their ribs are what look like gills. Their legs are nothing but curved fin with scaled flesh.

Chione screams as they grab at her with webbed hands, tearing into her flesh and sinking in their barbs of teeth. One rips through the clothing over her left breast and tears at the appendage in a spray of blood and I'm half-tempted to scream right back, but instead I turn away at the sound of the _crunch_ of one of them sinking their teeth into Chione's pale throat as the others screech and chomp on her limbs. Chione begins to gurgle then, lots of splashing and hissing and screeching from the creatures before they drag Chione's now limp body under the surface, blood floating up to turn the stream a deep red.

A trumpet blares in the distance.

I feel like vomiting suddenly, but know it'll serve to quicken dehydration so I keep my mouth closed and stifle the dry heaves as well as I can. On shaky legs I stand, steer far and clear of the river by a good number of yards as I begin to follow it upstream, hoping for a way around the deeper parts.

The singing starts again an hour later, and I stuff my hands over my ears to keep it out.

* * *

It takes another two hours to make it to a new damn, where the stream starts to get thin again. About a ten minute walk and there is no more singing. I sigh in high relief, look to the horizon where the sky is beginning to darken. I realize that I should probably find something to eat and bed down for the night to conserve strength. My empty stomach grumbles happily at the thought.

I find a gaggle of raspberry bushes by some dumb luck about another mile upstream, greedily stuffing the little fruits into my mouth. There's also an olive tree near. I eat so many my belly aches, even as I lick the oil from my fingers.

I sit on the bank for a bit and let my stomach settle as the sky darkens, sipping at my canteen before refilling it. I think about where I should sleep for the night and realize up in the trees would be safest. Even if it'll be uncomfortable as hell, I have rope to strap myself in with and it's high and dry and away from the other tributes and those _things_ in the stream, and whatever other gruesome creatures the Games offer up this year. Gods, I don't even want to know what else could be out there.

With a sigh, I open a side compartment of my pack and stuff it full of olives, knowing the raspberries won't keep long enough to carry with me. Luckily the pack is made from a thick leather like my corset, so it will keep the olives' juices in and fresh. I give a nod of approval and zip it up, take a peek inside the main compartment at the bag I thought to be food earlier.

Amazingly, it is.

Dried meats, fruits and nuts. I give a silent prayer of thanks, knowing that if there comes a time when I can't find anything else to eat, I'll be able to use these greatly.

I stand and stretch then, the fake sky of the arena turning to black, spattered with digital stars. There will be pictures in the sky of dead tributes soon– the mighty that have fallen. Snorting, I grab another handful of raspberries to snack on as I walk a little deeper into the forest, finding a nice cypress tree to climb. I get my bearings and remember all the old tricks from back home when I worked in the orchards while still young and light enough to pick fruit from trees.

It's three-fourths to the top before the branches start to groan under my weight. I scrabble back down a few branches and find the thickest one I can, which supports me well enough if I'm okay with my hips hanging off the sides a little. _Too many honey buns,_ Charon would tease. He always did when I'd complain of men looking at my hips back home, not liking to be ogled. I know they're good for birthing and all, but now the chances of me ever having kids are pretty much one to a hundred, so they're just a hassle and make it so my butt hurts as I tie myself to the branch with a scowl. At least the rope from the pack is thick and sturdy. _Like your fat hips_, I think, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Settling back into the trunk, I finally realize just how exhausted I am. I've probably covered a third of the arena today in walking alone, and narrowly escaped death by Ares, that boy from Éxi and those _things_ in the stream. I shudder, pull a face and take a sip of water from my canteen. I'm still wearing the pack on my back and trying to use it as a sort of pillow. When I wake up in the morning, I'm sure my face will smell like olives. _At least the oil is good for the skin,_ Mom would say, but I give a derisive roll of my eyes to the thought. Who needs to worry about their skin when they're sleeping in an arena made to kill them?

I'm nearly drifting, when suddenly the sky lights up. There are ripples in the stars, before a giant screen begins flashing the faces of the fallen tributes. The girl from Tría, the boy from Pénte, the boy from Éxi– _was it Hades' blow that killed you in the end?_– poor Chione from Eptá, Phobos from Hebe's republic, Októ, and Hypnos from Déka.

_Six._

Six dead for the day, which means there are still eighteen of us left. Artemis, Apollo and Hebe are in those numbers. So is Pan. And Hades and Hestia.

…And Ares.

Groaning, I turn my face into the pack and shut my eyes. Sleep comes easily, the exhaustion in my body taking over. I dream in vibrant colors, with blood soaking my neck and those black, black eyes of those _things_ in the stream, Chione crying out as they clamp their teeth in her. Their songs mix in with my nightmares, just as Ares' leer and Hestia's squeal when the boy from Éxi tries to go at her, only in my dreams I'm too late to stop him. And it isn't his chest which Hades' sword goes through, but mine.

* * *

**A/N**: aforementioned '_things'_ in the water are Sirens, in case anyone was wondering. And trust me, they will not be the only creature of Greek lore in the fic.


	11. Chasing Giant Foxes

**A/N**: Hey guys, I just wanted to clarify from the last chapter that I know Sirens are supposed to be three-winged bird-women, but I've always seen them more like mermaids, since they dwell at sea. As I've stated in previous chapters, I'm twisting the myths a bit. Please forgive me for not being cannon. Then again, a lot of this fic isn't cannon considering the Hunger Games universe and all, heh.

* * *

When I wake, it's to the light of the sun on the horizon.

_Fake_, I tell myself as I remember where I am. _For all you know it could be night in the rest of Elláda._ Shaking my head, I blink the sleep from my eyes. There's a crick in my neck, and I've slipped off the branch a bit. _Damn these hips,_ I think wearily, glancing down at the forest floor below. There is no singing in the distance, those _things_ far behind me. I didn't wake to the sound of a trumpet throughout the night, so I have a feeling that it's safe to say no other tributes have died yet.

But that doesn't mean there isn't still six dead kids that will never return to their families because of these Games.

Sighing, I wipe a bit of drool from the side of my mouth and pat my braids into place so they aren't sticking to my skin. I do, as I'd predicted, smell of olive oil. It's a familiar scent, like being back in Mom's garden at home. My heart aches with the thought and I begin untying myself from the branch. I need to start moving and see if I can find Hebe or the twins. I'm not only worried for their safety, but my own as well. At least in a group we'd all be better protected against attack.

_Unless we turn on each other…_

I make my way back down to the stream in quiet steps. The arena is less heated during the morning than the day; the humidity calmed. Still, the cool water of the stream is refreshing. I drink my fill as I eat more raspberries and olives, wishing there was bread too. Less than twenty-four hours without them and already, I miss carbs. I wish there was a better source of protein out here too, but for now the olives and berries have to be enough. I make sure to refill my canteen when I'm finished, moving farther upstream once done.

Hades said Hebe went west, and I'm hoping to find her most of all, but I'm headed more toward the north, where he mentioned Artemis and Apollo to be. Mainly it is because I want to find the shallowest part of this stream I can to wade through, just in case those _things_ have followed me, though I have not heard an ounce of singing today.

It takes a three hour walk before finally I decide I need to just cross the stream now and get it over with. I don't like Hebe out there alone. Artemis and Apollo are together and no doubt have weapons and supplies they grabbed from the cornucopia so they'll be okay; Hebe ran off before she could get hold of anything, and I don't know if she's found the twins yet or not. She might even have gone deeper west into the forest, instead of heading north. We hadn't planned on being so split like this. We hadn't planned on me running off to be the hero and save Hestia the way I did either, yet I can't find it in myself to regret the decision.

The part of the stream where I finally cross is not too deep. At most it comes up to my knees, soaking my leggings in cool relief. By now, the sun is steadily rising in the sky, and even though it is not real it is making the heat in the arena renewal.

I'm sweating profusely before I realize it, and want to badly take this stupid corset off. But I don't have time to do that. Instead I take little sips of water from my canteen, wanting to conserve it as much as possible for when the heat really kicks in around noon.

A couple of more steps and I start to hear the rustling. It's a soft sort of sound, like something picking at a bush. Adrenaline suddenly spikes my blood and I pull the hunting knife from where it's sheathed in my belt, holding it in a defensive position, ears twitching to make out where the sound is coming from. It seems a couple of yards to my left and I turn sharp in the direction.

Should I put distance between myself and whatever is making the sound? _But what if it's Hebe or Artemis or Apollo or even Pan?_ A sting of guilt hits at that last name. I haven't even considered going to find and help him, even though Hades told me which direction he went. Prometheus had said not to ally with Pan while in the arena, and no matter how much I feel I owe it to the young boy to help him, I won't refute Prometheus' advice any more than I already have. It's why I, like Hades, had snapped _no_ when Hestia had asked if I could go with them to the mountain; that wasn't in the plan.

I mean, it was one thing to be rebellious before the Games, but now that they have begun I can't afford to do something stupid. I trust Prometheus, even if he is a bit insane. He did win his own Games, after all. And that was nearly twenty years ago, so he's had a lot of experience with this since. And plus those kisses he gave me reinstated how much he wants me alive.

Biting my lip with sudden chagrin as well as fear, I move closer to the sound of shuffling, parting the bushes with the knife at the ready. What I find shocks me– it's a fox. A very _large_ fox with a shining coat and stunning green eyes. It's devouring a rabbit, bite by bite with blood staining its mouth. I can tell that if it stood on all fours, the fox's shoulders would be past my waist. And the sight should be terrifying, but instead it is absolutely _beautiful_.

I can't help the breath of amazement that escapes as I ogle the stunning animal, which alerts the fox to my presence. It turns its sharp, almost intelligent gaze towards me. For a moment I am frozen in alarm as it licks the blood from its chops. _Will it attack me?_ But no, one sniff in my direction and the fox flees.

Instantly, I give chase after it.

I don't know why I do this. It's sure to be a fruitless endeavor for the animal is very fast, but then again, so am I. Its shining red coat is stark to the forest around us as we run through the trees, heading farther and farther west. I keep pace as best I can, trailing behind with harsh pants of breath and aching feet. My boots make sure I don't get stuck in the mud. My pack sloshes almost noiselessly against my back.

The fox increases its frenzied escape and I'm half tempted to call '_wait_' after it. Something inside of me knows I must keep up with the animal. If only I could catch it…

Eventually, it outruns me. That's to be expected, and I should have known better than to follow it, really. I don't even fully understand what possessed me to do so. It's like the fox is destined never to be caught; I think that is why I want to catch it so much.

Covered in sweat and gasping for air, I drop to the ground and stare up at the forest canopy above me. I am below a budding cypress and see tinges of fake, blue sky overhead. How can an arena made to kill me be so beautiful? How can the Capital, capable of murderous violence, also create such amazing things?

I only have a moment to ponder the thought before footsteps invade my senses. I wish I could say it was the fox come back, but it isn't. These footsteps are definitely human– a soft tread on foliage. Getting my wits about me, I roll on my side into a grove of thorn bushes, ignore the sting as they scratch at my exposed skin. I've managed to keep hold of my knife this whole time, gripping it that much tighter as the footsteps begin to near me.

Slowly, Hebe steps out into the small patch of open space between the trees, her tulle eyes darting about anxiously.

"Hebe!" I say, startling the girl enough she's about to bolt. "Hebe, wait! It's me– it's Kore!" I disentangle myself from the bushes, push myself up to stand. The girl looks at me with a wide stare, lingering on the knife in my hand. "Oh," I say, flushing as I move to tuck it into my belt. I wipe away a speckle of blood from my cheek from where the thorns tore open the skin. "Sorry."

"Kore," she finally breathes in relief, small shoulders relaxing. "What happened to you yesterday?"

"I– Ares chased me and I had to go east," I say, deciding to omit my encounter with Hestia, Hades and the dead boy from Éxi. "I've been trying to find you."

"Thank the Gods," she says. "I've been hiding out all morning. I haven't seen anyone else, but there was this _thing_…"

"Was it in the water?" I ask, flashing with fear as I remember Chione, screaming desperately as those _things_ in the stream bit into her flesh, all that blood in the water.

Hebe looks confused for a moment, shaking her head. "No, no. It was this huge cat-like animal, but it had the tail of a scorpion!" My eyes widen at the description. "It was eating a dear. But then I think, I think it _smelled_ me or something, and it ended up chasing me up a tree. It took _hours_ before the thing lost interest and I could climb down. I've been trying to put as much distance between it and me as possible. It's more south-west now; at least that's the direction it left in."

Swallowing uncomfortably in mention of this new beast, I glance at her scraped palms covered in dirt. Probably from trying to climb the tree quickly to get away. Her tunic has leaves stuck to it too, sticky with sap. It's stitched with silver unlike the gold of my own, little patterned twists in her leather corset. She's got her golden hair up in braids much like mine, but they've come out some, tugged at by branches. She looks so much a child, and a frightened and hungry one at that.

"I have olives," I say, hooking a thumb towards the pocket of my bag that houses them. "And water. Have you had anything to drink or eat yet?"

"I found a small brook yesterday," Hebe says. "I slept by it, but haven't had anything to drink since this morning. The last time I ate was yesterday, before the Games…"

I nod. "Help yourself to the olives then. You can have some water too, but only small sips, okay? We have to conserve it until we find another source."

She nods back eagerly, moving to the pocket of food I indicated towards. I unhook the canteen from the clip it's attached to on the pack and let her take a few drinks before she digs into the leftover olives I have with me.

"We need to head north," I tell her, pointing towards the mountain on the horizon. "That's the way Artemis and Apollo went, and they're still alive."

"I know," says Hebe, licking at the oil on her lips. "I saw that Phobos died yesterday… I feel kind of bad, y'know? He _was_ from my republic."

"I understand," I say; I'd feel the same if something were to happen to Pan. Maybe even guiltier, because he's small and defenseless and I've done nothing but impair his chances so far, trying to act supportive when we both knew I wouldn't help him once the Games really got up and running. I swallow the culpability in my throat at that; begin to walk north.

"Have you seen anyone else?" Hebe asks softly as she takes stride next to me, her footfalls more silent now that she's been fed and had something to quench her thirst. She's sweating as profusely as I am, though not as soaked to the bone because at least she wasn't stupidly chasing giant foxes.

_It led you to her,_ a voice in the back of my head reasons.

"Yeah…" I murmur in answer to her question, Chione's screams echoing through my mind. Last night, before I finally fell asleep, I thought about maybe how I should have helped her, or something. Stopped her from going into that stream so those _things_ couldn't get their claws in her. Her kill won't be put on my counter, but in my own head, her death is my fault. "I saw the girl from Eptá at this stream farther back east. There were these…_monsters_ in the water there. She didn't make it."

"_Oh_," says Hebe, her expression twisting. "Was it awful, to watch someone die? I haven't– I got away from the bloodbath before I could see anything."

"It is awful," I say, and not only remember Chione's desperate eyes, but the feeling of the dead boy from Éxi's blood running down the back of my neck, Hades' unhesitant blow. "It…" _It isn't right_, I want to say, but I know that will just set the Capital against me– this is their design, after all– so I simply trail off and stare at my feet as Hebe and I continue to walk.

* * *

It's silent, the next few hours. Not an awkward silence, but an amiable one. Both Hebe and I are determined to cover ground. A few hours past noon, we take a moment to rest and pass my canteen back and forth, sipping at the water gingerly. I suggest that we head back to the stream I found originally, and follow it as far north as we can get. Maybe not to the mountain exactly, but we can stick to it as a base and branch off throughout the days to find sight of the twins. This way, we'll have a water source and hopefully find some more food on its banks.

Hebe agrees with me and by near nightfall, we've somehow managed to find our way back to it, drinking greedily from its cold waters. We find a fig tree and stuff ourselves full of the fruit, lying on the bank for a while, simply staring as the sun finally sinks on the fake horizon.

"Is sleeping in a tree okay with you?" I ask her, eyeing a sturdy pine a few yards away from the bank.

"I don't know how I'll manage not to fall out," she says sheepishly, a blush tingeing her light cheeks.

I smile. "Leave that part to me."

The rope's long enough that I can cut her a sturdy section, helping tie her to a branch above the one I rest on, higher off the ground than I was last night. It feels safer this way. No fishy things in the stream, no giant foxes, no cats with scorpion tales able to find us. And, hopefully, no bloodthirsty tributes either.

The sky remains dark even as the digital stars come out. No tributes have been killed today. I can't help wondering what the rest of them are doing. Especially Pan; where is the small boy hiding so none of the bigger kids can get a hold of him? Have Hestia and Hades made it to the mountain yet? Are Artemis and Apollo looking for Hebe and me, or have they given up? Is Ares stalking around in the dark out there, the rest of the Demigods at his side?

And what of the dead tributes; where are they now? Heaven? I've never been able to believe in such a thing. My mother always said everything recycles back into the earth, once it is dead. Will those tributes be born again as flowers and trees, once their corpses are planted in the ground? What of Chione? I don't think there could be anything left of her, with how vicious those _things_ were. Will her spirit ever find peace, or be stuck in their bellies an eternity?

"Kore?"

"Yeah, Hebe?" I ask, licking my lips where the sweet taste of figs remains.

"What's it like in Énteka? Is it nice?"

I blink at her question, stare off into the trees far away from us. "It's nothing special," I tell her. Because how can I talk of the violence and the famine and the working yourself the bone? How can I say _it's awful, and vile and the guards there hurt you just for looking at them wrong_ without sounding like I am betraying the Capital? How can I say _it killed my father, and my siblings' father, and my brother too_? How can I say _it's broken my mother more than the Capital has even though they took her lover away, calling him a God and never letting him see her or his son that they whipped to death in the streets just for slurring the president, who is a vile, awful man and deserved it in the first place_?

How can I tell Hebe, a mere child, of the way people fight over scraps when the harvest season goes bad and we all begin to starve? How can I tell her of the time a dirty, crazy man broke into the shop and tried to rob us before I hit him over the head with a pot to keep him from getting up the stairs to my siblings? How can I tell her of the young girls who go out by the slag and let the guards buy them and do as they please, because at least it's better to be paid while they rape you? How can I tell her of the innocent people I've seen collapse in the fields and die because everyone has to keep working instead of help? How can I tell her of the corpses I've seen rot in the sun because most are too poor to afford burying their dead?

I can't; I can't tell her _any_ of that so I leave it at '_nothing special_' because it's the best I can come up with without ripping myself to shreds in anger and tears and cursing the Capital for letting my republic go to ruins like that. For taking all the food we produce to feed their pampered residents, while boys like Pan turn to skin and bones.

While Plutus whimpers and cries because he just wants the pain to be over…

"What about Októ?" I ask. "How do you like it there?"

"It's okay," says Hebe vaguely, sucking in a deep breath. "Being small helps me because we all have to work in the factories, if you aren't a merchant I mean. I get to make pretty lace for the Capital's chitons because I'm good with my hands. But you have to be really careful; lots of people loose limbs on the thread cutters there. My older brother, Ganymede, he lost his hand last year when trying to cut pallets of fabric. He almost died, but luckily we got the blood to stop before that happened."

"That's good," I say, a hitch in my voice. _I wish we could have saved Plutus that way._ "Losing an older brother sucks."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Kore!" Hebe says suddenly, and I see her peek over her limb of the tree, eyes seeking mine to show her sincerity. "I forgot about your brother."

"It's okay," I tell her. "It was a while ago."

"Hermes said last year…?" Hebe questions softly.

"About two," I correct her. "He would've been nineteen this year; never would have had to put his name in the drawing again."

And we're both apt for silence after that. Hebe rights herself on her branch and eventually, I hear her breathing slow as she drifts into sleep, soft snores escaping her chest. I smile slightly, letting my own eyes close. I try not to think of Plutus lying prone on the table and dying, or of the boy from Éxi's blood on my neck, or of Chione screaming and screaming. Instead I drift off to the thought of foxes, trying to give chase.

* * *

The next day is spent in wondering the area around the stream, heading farther north. No other tributes die again, and Hebe and I spend our evening on the stream's bank, nibbling at figs and, not so happily, mushed grubs we found in the tree hollows. It isn't appetizing in the least, but we need the protein to keep up our strength. And if you smash them up with figs and sprigs of basil we found from a nearby bush, they're not too horrendous in taste. It's mainly a slimy texture thing.

"Gods, what I wouldn't give for bread," I say, making sure to drink plenty of water from the canteen to get the grub-grease out of my mouth.

"Mhm," Hebe mumbles around a mouth of mush.

It takes exactly twelve minutes for the golden basket to drop from the sky, then. It's attached to a silky parachute and falls at the bank just five feet away from me. Hebe and I look at each other with startled eyes before I scamper over to the basket and open it, finding a loaf of honey-wheat inside. It's still steaming hot, and my mouth waters.

"Oh, Gods, _thank you_," I say happily, looking around for whatever camera is near to smile at it, hoping the sponsors that have sent this gift can see. "_Thank you._"

I drag the basket over between Hebe and me and break the loaf into half, taking one and breaking it into half again. I hand one of the pieces to Hebe, who gives me an astounded expression. "You're giving me your gift?"

"Of course I am," I say simply. "Here, take it."

She does, eagerly filling her small mouth with quick and happy nibbles. We share a smile as I do the same with my own bread, happy that it takes the taste of grub out of my mouth and instead replaces it with the warmness of honey and yeast. I _mmm_ appreciatively and sprawl out on my elbows, letting my head drop back. Two days without bread was utter torture, and that makes me realize how spoiled I've been my whole life. Back in Énteka, even in the worst of times, my family still had bread. Granted, it wasn't much, but a morsel worth for each day's dinner. Many people had none at all.

I try to stamp away the guilt in my chest at the thought and finish my half, wrapping the leftovers in the parachute that came with the basket. I put it in my pack, wanting to save it for later.

Hebe and I go to sleep satiated, full bellies as we dream until the morning.

When we rise, it's to the sun and a trumpet blare.


	12. What Would Plutus say

_Hebe and I go to sleep satiated, full bellies as we dream until the morning._

_ When we rise, it's to the sun and a trumpet blare._

* * *

Both Hebe and I are on the quick alert, her glancing down from her branch at me with shock. "Who do you think it was for?" she asks softly.

"I don't know," I say, staring out at the horizon with sleepy eyes. "I really hope not anyone we know…"

We eat more figs for breakfast, and a nibble of bread each. We drink lots of water from the stream, before filling the canteen and setting out to track down the twins again. I keep thinking of that trumpet blare though– the dead tribute behind it. Was it one of our allies? Or maybe it was Pan. Or Hades. Or sweet, little Hestia.

I glance nervously to Hebe at my side and close the gap between us, hand on the hilt of the knife stuck inside my belt. By now both of us have gotten used to the smell of body odor that's been collecting on our skin since the start of the Games, so the lack of space isn't much concern. The only flaw of it is that it makes things hotter, when Gods know that isn't something we need.

It's very late in the afternoon, when Hebe and I stop to rest. I hand her the canteen first. It's while she's taking a greedy sip I hear the rustling. My first thoughts are of that fox that I saw the other day, the one that led me to Hebe… But no, this rustling isn't like that. It's made by movement of lithe bodies, sliding over the forest floor.

The sound of string draws back–

I tackle Hebe to the ground just as an arrow shoots in the direction of her chest, sticking into the tree behind her. She screams, but I stuff my hand over her mouth. The canteen is next to us, spilling all of our water onto the ground. It's the least of my worries though, senses attuned as I listen for another draw of a bow.

It never comes though, and instead I hear muttered curses, followed by tumbling and tussling. I grab my knife out of my belt; push Hebe toward a grove of bushes to hide just as two bodies appear from behind a gaggle of cypress trees. I duck into a crouch, adrenaline spiked, when I notice the golden curls, the long, brown braid.

They're wearing peacock feathers in their hair again, one behind each of their left ears. Both twins are decked in the same garments as the other tributes, though theirs are stitched with a deep green threading, patterned in bows and arrows. They've got quivers on their backs full of beautifully crafted arrows, and war paint around their bright eyes. Each has a pack, too.

"Alliance off then, I take it?" I ask from where I'm on the defensive on the ground, really hoping that my words are wrong.

Both twins turn their bows on me, expressions startled. My face seems to register with them then, and they lower their weapons slowly. "Only if you want it to be," they say at the same time.

"Not really," I chuckle.

They close the gap between us then and we embrace. "Gods, you have good hearing," says Artemis.

I grin; Plutus always hated that– never could scare me easy like he wanted to.

There's shuffling behind us and the twins seem abruptly ready to take aim again when Hebe pops her head out from the bushes. Artemis all but squeals in delight and rushes over to the small girl, pulling her into a hug and cooing at her in a mothering tone, talking about how she needs to re-braid her hair because it looks _terrible_ and asking _why didn't Kore do that for you?_ along with other worried things.

"You smell awful," says Apollo then, drawing my attention away from the two girls curled up together affectionately.

I give a wrinkle of my nose, take a sniff. I do smell pretty bad, but so does _he_. "Look who's talking," I smirk.

He shifts under his chest plate, leggings stretching beneath his tunic which fits his lean muscles tightly. "It's this fucking heat; who'd have known they'd turn the arena into a fireball?"

"Only the Gods," I say.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth then, and before I can say anything he's leaning in and kissing me. _Why are men always kissing me lately?_ I shove him off with a grunt and he laughs, shaking his head. "Sorry; we thought you were dead when we heard that trumpet this morning. I was worried."

"So was I," says Artemis, coming to stand next to us with Hebe at her side. By now the latter's collected the canteen once more.

She hands it off to me and I frown when I feel it's lost nearly all its contents. "You guys have water?" I ask them.

They nod. "Found a stream back east."

"Us too," intones Hebe.

"You haven't seen those…_things_, have you?" asks Artemis then, a shiver running down her back.

My eyes widen. "The fish women?"

"What?" asks Apollo. "No, she was talking about the hounds that stalk its banks. They look like something you'd see out of the Underworld."

"Oh," I say, confused. "So you guys didn't see the fish women either?"

"What are you _talking_ about?" asks Artemis.

I shake my head, give a soft sigh. "It's a _long_ story."

* * *

Artemis and Apollo tell me they were the first to the cornucopia before the real gore of the bloodbath could begin, and that's how they got their bows and quivers and packs. "We're fast," says Apollo with a gloating smile.

Artemis rolls her eyes. "And our plates were right across from the opening."

By now Hebe and I have each explained our separate experiences to them. I told the same story from earlier– that Ares chased me into the eastern woods, leaving mention of Hades and Hestia and the dead boy from Éxi out. We all talk around mouthfuls of figs, having gone back to mine and Hebe's little makeshift camp of sorts.

The twins were hesitant to stay by the stream at first, giving more claims of the hounds that chased them away the first day they wondered its banks. "They were as big as ponies," says Apollo with wide eyes. "Their shoulder blades looked as if they'd rip through their rotting skin. Their mouths dripped blood instead of saliva. We barely got away without being torn to shreds. It was fucking terrifying."

Hebe tells them of the large cat then in more detail, with its scorpion tail and fangs. I describe the fish women from the deeper parts of the stream, shivering as I replay the details of Chione's death over and over again in my head. "It's my fault," I say at last. "I could've stopped her from going into the water."

"So she could turn around and stab you?" asks Artemis, shaking her head wearily. "You did what you had to do, Kore. This Game is about surviving, not about being motherly. I know you like to take care of people, but these aren't the people to do so with."

I don't argue with her, even if somewhere deep in my gut I know she is wrong. I don't believe in this. I _can't_ believe in this. And yet I feel the dead boy from Éxi's blood running down my neck, hear Chione's screams; I am happy that it was them and not me. _Does this make me a monster like everyone else in the Capital? What would Plutus say, if he could see me now?_

Artemis and Apollo and their bows are a lot more help than I could have wished for. They skew us a water fowl of some kind as it feeds at the stream. We cook it on a small fire and try to waft the smoke away so as not to signal anyone to where we are. The twins have managed to do this the past four days, so I trust them when they say that we shouldn't draw any unwarranted attention.

The bird is greasy much like the grubs from last night, and so I manage to convince myself to split the remaining bread from in fours. Apollo speaks his apparent surprise I've already received a gift this early in the Games. "Being number three in the favorites poll really meant good for you, our little Maiden." I want to snap at him not to call me that– I still have not much fondness for the nickname– but I know Prometheus would be upset if I did, so I simply give Apollo a soft smile.

Both of the twins are decent at climbing the tree to sleep. They've got rope in their packs so we don't have to worry about them falling out of the pine in the middle of the night, but Apollo ends up having to rest a few branches lower than even me because his weight won't be supported up this high. He's lean, but full of muscle from manning tills in his republic during the working months. Artemis ends up sleeping right next to Hebe, the two whispering in secret endearments to one another about their homes, telling stories that would lull me to comforting sleep if I wasn't anxious to see who that trumpet was for this morning.

Finally, as the digital stars rise in the sky, an image flickers into view of the dead tribute. It's the boy from Eptá. I can't help but wonder who killed him. Was it a Demigod? Was it Pan? Was it Hades? The thoughts swirl in my head until I hear Apollo hiss my name and duck my head to look at him.

"My sister asleep, yet?" he asks, and at Artemis' loud snore above me, I nod. "You wanna come down here with me, then?"

"Why?" I ask crossly, shifting in my ropes.

"Well, I wanted to kiss you more," he says, straight-forward in the answer as always. "If I end up dying here, I wanna know I'm going out having kissed the prettiest girl I've ever met."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Apollo," I sigh, twisting to straighten myself back out. I am _not_ going to kiss him. One kiss this morning was enough for me. Prometheus satiated any questions I had about kissing nearly five days ago; I can die without any more lips or tongue or teeth against mine, thank you very much. Besides, I do not feel that way for Apollo. I think of him more as an annoying brother than a lover.

He laughs at my answer, and I realize he's pretty much mocking me when he says, "You really _are_ a little maiden, huh?"

"Go to sleep, Apollo," I say, and receive no protest.

We all drift soundly the rest of the night.

* * *

"You really think all this is necessary?" Hebe asks, trampling over thickets and trying not to fall.

Artemis catches her arm to keep her steady. "Yes, I do."

"What is scoping out the Demigods going to do for us anyways?" I ask, rubbing at the back of my neck where sweat is collecting and making my skin itch.

"Give us a down-low on the competition, Kore, keep up," smirks Apollo, grabbing my arm and hauling me forwards with him.

We've been together as a group for a whole of three days now. We wake up in the morning, eat, rest, mess around a little in combat to keep our wits sharp, eat again, rest some more, walk around the distance of the camp, eat again and go to bed. Today is different though. The twins have become bored of our little routine. No other tributes have died, and we're all antsy that the Gamesmakers are going to do something to induce action soon. "Better just to give them a little something," Artemis whispered to all of us this morning before we took off to go back to the Demigods' camp.

"What are we planning to do anyways?" I ask, shrugging Apollo's touch off of me where it lingers on the small of my back, close to the swell of my bottom. He likes making grabs just to frustrate me and I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. Every night, he still asks me to kiss him. "Pick off stragglers?"

"Why not?" asks Apollo with a shrug. "If Artemis and I can get into a good enough position, we'd be able to shoot anyone in range right through the throat. May as well take out the competition now, right?" He sounds so casual about killing someone that to the audience watching us live it's believable. Yet, next to me, I can feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves. Artemis and Apollo may have been painted as savages, but they've never killed anyone before and I don't think they really want to start now.

_But what choice do we have?_ I think. _It's not like we can just hide out forever._

The Gamesmakers hate lags like this; it doesn't make for good programing. Any moment now we're waiting for them to send some kind of creature after us, like those hounds the twins have shivered about for days now with every recollection. At least if we try to start some kind of drama ourselves, we may be off the Gamesmakers' radar and they'll go for another tribute to torture.

That doesn't make this little impromptu mission any less dangerous, though.

Best case scenario, maybe Artemis and Apollo _do_ shoot down one of the Demigods. But that would only put a target on our backs. There aren't any other skilled archers this year; unless the rest of the Demigods are stupid, they're going to know who the assassins are. And they're going to hunt us down and slaughter us, with extra blood for the sake of a good show.

I shiver as an image of Ares' hands around my throat invades my mind; I'm sure he'll keep me half-conscious for hours until eventually the fear makes my heart give out. He's crazy enough to do something like that, and after all the humiliation I've so far caused him I'd imagine he will.

We're a good days' trek away from the cornucopia, which is where the twins are sure that the Demigods have kept camp– they do every year. It was at the crack of dawn that Apollo was the one to pipe up the idea to go "hunting", Artemis giving a sly, nervous smile of agreement. If we make it there by nightfall, they're sure it'll give us enough cover to be able to get away once their plan goes into action.

I keep giving nervous glances to Hebe's cultish legs with the thought. She's just so small, and though she's fast, the brush of the ground makes her trip a lot. If we had flat lands to run across, I'm sure she'd be just fine, but this forest is too dense for such a wish.

The one thing I am thankful for of this entire endeavor is that we are not following the stream back to the meadow. Instead we're deeper into the forest in the safety of the trees, far away from where those _things_ can sing out to us, an ache in our lower bellies that we think they can quell by walking into the waters before their teeth begin to rip at our skin, devouring until there is nothing left.

Our group walks in silence after that. We rest once to eat leftover bird meat and figs we've taken with us from our old camp, drinking water vigorously to keep the heat of the arena at bay. Having three canteens comes in handy, especially when they've got to be used between four people.

The trek resumes once again when we've lounged for a while, letting our sore feet heal. I took a bath in the stream this morning, but already I smell highly of sweat and my clothes are once-more damp with it. The day seems unusually hot compared to all the rest. Even under the shade of the trees the air is thick with humidity and appears to shimmer in a certain light. I'd think you could cut it with a knife, if I didn't know the laws of physics thanks to having the strange _want_ to pay attention in school unlike most of my classmates who usually all slept before having to head out to work in the fields.

It isn't until sun fall we're allowed to stop again, and that's only for a brief moment to eat and rehydrate. We sprawl on the ground lazily.

"We're _so close_," says Apollo as he pops a fig into his mouth. "I can practically smell it."

"Bullshit," calls Artemis, and laughs at her twin's disgruntled expression. "Apollo always has claimed a keen sense of smell, but don't let him fool you. It's nowhere near like your hearing, Kore."

Unjustly, I blush. "It's just because I had an older brother who liked sneaking up on me to try and scare me. You get good on listening to everything around you in a circumstance like that. Sure pissed Plutus off, though."

"Is that the brother Hermes was talking about in your interview?" asks Apollo, and I nod grimly. "How'd he die, anyways?"

"_Apollo_," hisses Hebe, the first time I've ever seen her anywhere close to mad. "That's rude to ask."

"Well, she may as well tell us," Apollo shrugs. "I mean, it's not like the rest of the Capital doesn't already know by now, since we're in the Games and all."

A fire spreads in my gut at that. I hadn't wanted the Capital knowing _anything_. It was bad enough the officials of the Games would've seen it– my family's logs on display for them the moment my name was drawn at altar– but now all of the other dimwits from that place get to try and judge my brother too? It isn't right; especially when Plutus didn't really commit a crime. At least to me he didn't. Calling President Cronus an idiot that deserved to starve along with the rest of us was truth, not treason.

"He was whipped," I say despite myself. _And he certainly didn't deserve it._ "Committed a small offense. The Guards in our republic, they're…_strong-headed_ about their job. We tried to stop Plutus from dying afterwards; it didn't take."

"I'm so sorry, Kore," says Artemis then, eyes going wide. "I can't imagine losing a sibling."

Apollo grabs her hand comfortingly. "I can't either. I'm sorry I asked you that, Kore. It wasn't fair."

"No big deal," I say, trying to shrug it off. "It happened a while ago. I still have Despoina and Arion and my mother."

"What about your father?" Artemis asks softly. "What happened to him?"

"He died in the fields," I say. "He had a bad heart. Despoina and Arion's father passed out there, too. Heat stroke."

"Gods, that's _awful_," Hebe whispers. "Almost losing Ganymede was hard enough, but to lose _that_ many people. I'm sorry Kore."

"Yeah, that does suck," say Artemis and Apollo at the same time. "We lost our uncle Koios a few years back, but that doesn't begin to compare to a father."

"Hey, guys, no worries," I insist, wanting to take the attention off myself. "This isn't the 'let's dwell on Kore's misfortunes' show. We have better things to do, like fight some people, right?"

And, as if the heavens seek to mock me, that's when a knife goes whizzing past my head.


	13. Won't Hesitate to Follow

_And, as if the heavens seek to mock me, that's when a knife goes whizzing past my head._

* * *

I duck before the next knife makes its target.

From the ground, I watch a twanging blade burry itself into Apollo's shoulder. He curses, falls to the ground beside me. Artemis has her bow strung, is screaming for her twin as Hebe cowers next to the nearest tree and more flying objects fly at all of us. I tuck my head against my knees and roll to Apollo, find him panicking and trying to pull the blade from his flesh.

"No!" I hiss, prying his hands away from the wound. "We don't know where it hit don't take it out yet in case it nicked an artery!"

"Apollo!" Artemis shouts, desperate to know he's alright.

"Can you move?" I ask him.

He gurgles, but it's only spit trapped in his throat and not blood. "Yes," he says, about to hyperventilate.

"Well," I say as a knife cuts itself past Artemis' cheek, sends her blood running. "Don't."

I grab my own knife out of my belt, stand and duck as something sharp flies for me. Adrenaline fueled, I trace its movement back into the trees. "They're coming from south!" I yell to Artemis. "Aim your bow south!"

She does as told even through her fear for her brother, fires one arrow after another until there's a distinct howl, head meeting muscle and bone. My fingers clench around the hilt of the hunting knife between them as I glance to Artemis. "Is Apollo okay?" she asks, breath heavy.

"Apollo's fine!" her twin calls from the ground. "Just…peachy!"

"Hebe?" I ask, look to where I last saw her and find her crouching with her hands over her head.

"Okay," says Artemis. "You two stay here. Kore and I are going to go make sure the thing is dead."

"We are?" I ask, but she's already got me by the collar of my corset and is pulling me forwards. "What if they throw more knives?!" I ask her in sudden throat-thick fear.

"We shoot them." she says. "They hurt Apollo. They're dead."

What we find in the southern cover of trees is a girl, no more than an inch taller than Artemis, who is quite short all things considered. She's a pale thing with dark hair, starved of the sun in winter. Artemis' arrow has gone straight through her stomach, a bloody red staining the girl's garments which are stitched in a cobalt thread with atoms and molecules.

She's from Pente, like Athena.

"The girl from Pente," I say softly to Artemis, and the girl groans.

"She's a dead bitch," Artemis mutters, loading her bow.

"Wait!" I say before she lets the arrow go. I crouch down to the girl's level then, find her fear-stricken eyes that blaze copper in the shadows of the forest. "Are you the only one?" I ask, taking in our surroundings of a small camp, complete with sleeping mat and fire.

The girls spits blood in my face at answer. I'm a bit taken back by that, fall out of my crouch and onto my ass on the ground. "Oh," I say, wiping the red away from eyes before it clouds my vision. "_Oh_."

In the next shot, Artemis gets the girl clean through her eye and kills her quick.

A trumpet blares.

* * *

Our walk back to Hebe and Apollo is filled with silence. _Is that the first life Artemis took?_ I wonder, because she didn't even blink. _Gods know there is madness even outside of these games._

When we reach our allies it's to Hebe having Apollo propped against a tree, the knife out of his shoulder and some strange leaves pressed to his wounds. "It didn't hit anything vital," Hebe says when she sees us. "My momma taught me some ways to stop bleeding these leaves are a good one."

At close look, I appraise her choice and nod my acquisition. Hybrid trees of the Capital's making are often pretty useful for more than their rot-proof wood. "My momma taught me the same," I say to Hebe with a grin. "You did good."

Artemis drops to her twin's side in relief upon hearing he's not going to die from the wound. "Thank the Gods," she whispers, pressing her forehead to his. "I killed her, Apollo. It's okay now."

"Who was it?" Apollo asks in a hoarse voice; the peacock feathers are all missing from his hair now.

"The girl from Pente," Artemis says, malice in her voice.

"Her name's Phoebe," Hebe whispers softly. "She was thirteen."

"I don't care," Artemis snaps. "She tried to kill my brother.

I look at the twins then, really _look_ at them and see their dependency, how the bond they share verges upon unhealthy in need. And the longer I look, the sadder I get, because we all know two can't win the Games. Sooner or later, one of them is going to be dead, but I'm sure the other won't hesitate to follow.

* * *

"So you're telling me that I get stabbed in the shoulder and almost _die_ and you _still_ won't kiss me?"

"Yes," I murmur, changing the dressings on Apollo's wounds with a roll of the eyes. "That's what I'm telling you, idiot."

It's been a day since he's taken the knife, a day since Artemis killed Phoebe. We gave up the mission of going after the Demigods thought it better to trek back to camp and let Apollo rest for a bit. The Gamesmakers got their dose of death with Phoebe, so it should sate them for a while.

The constant flux of self-made salves and water flushings that Hebe and I have decorated Apollo's cut shoulder with have healed it pretty miraculously. The wound looks weeks old instead of just a day's. It kind of makes me sad, when I think about it. Had Hebe's name not been drawn at altar, she could have made an amazing doctor. But now she's going to die and not even a God can cure that.

_God_, I scoff to myself lightly. _What a joke. They're no more than mortals with fancy titles to their names for killing innocents. What an honor._

Apollo winces as I apply oil from a synthesized plant to his wound, the sizzling sound an internal heal. "Shit, that hurts like hell, Maiden girl."

I resist the urge to snap at him to stop calling me that and continue with my work. "Should've ducked sooner," I say.

"Not all of us have feline reflexes," he says.

"No, I have the reflexes of a bat," I say. "I rely on echolocation."

"Oh really?" asks Apollo with raise of golden brow. "And what reflexes do I have then, oh wise one?"

"A lizard," I say. "Gods know you look like one."

He flicks his tongue at me jokingly and I laugh, bat him in the face with my fingers.

Artemis and Hebe left to hunt down supper about fifteen minutes ago and Apollo's been trying to put the moves on me_ again_ since their departure. It's getting a bit exhausting, if you ask me. Sometimes I wonder if he isn't secretly trying to kill me via annoyance instead of weapon.

I finish covering his wounds with ripped fabric of his tunic and give him water to drink, sit next to him and nibble on raspberries until my fingers stain red. It's nearly an hour later, the sun setting in the sky, that Hebe and Artemis stumble back to camp with a prisoner in tow.

Both Apollo and I stand at their entrance, stare at a mud-riddled Pan with wide eyes. "What the hell?" Apollo is the first to ask.

"We found him wondering around the stream," Artemis shrugs. "Figured Kore wouldn't want us to kill him yet."

I stare at Pan then, his trembling shoulders and little boy eyes from home. _Stay away from him,_ Prometheus' voice tells me. "Don't kill him," I say instead. "Don't…"

"Okay then," Artemis says, and shoves Pan forwards.

He stumbles, shies away when I try to help him from where he falls to the ground. "Hey," I try to say, holding my hands up in peace. "It's okay, Pan."

"Why are you helping me?" he asks, face in the dirt. "Prometheus said"

"He's not my boss," I interrupt the boy, knowing that if by some miracle I do make it through these Games, Prometheus is going to give me hell for saying that. "Come on are you hungry?"

Pan nods, stares up from a sheen of matted hair as I grab his palm, which is noticeably pale against the dark of my own skin. "Come on," I say again. "Let's get you fed and cleaned up, okay?"

He's been hiding out on the farther ends of the arena, he tells me after I've helped him wash in the stream and given him olives and dried bird meat to eat. It's apparently like a marsh down that way, everything wet and fuddled and there's a constant drizzle. He says there were some weird things down there, _monsters_.

Giant snakes chased him up this far, and he barely made it past the watch of the Demigods. The boy is scared straight it's plain as day in his meadow eyes and even with reassurance no one in our pack will hurt him, I can tell he's ready to run the moment we look away.

Who could blame him?

Artemis is still fuming from the day before, on the red alert when she isn't doting upon Apollo like a grievous mother or a lover if you look close enough, but I don't really want to. There's a hardened edge to her, like unbendable steel and it's obvious she's killed someone, is ready to kill again.

I think about Hades every time I look at her, the way he rammed his sword through that boy from Exi, the blood on the back of my neck.

Not knowing how to feel about it, I take myself to the stream and bathe away sweat and any thought of the Games left. Instead I remember Plutus and Desponia in the fields, the way their skin shines in the light and their honey hair curls like Mom's. I remember glimpses of my father, warm skin against my mother's own rich flesh in stark contrast, the way Plutus and I are the perfect mix of the two of them.

When I come back it's to bed down uneasy. Pan sticks in but he has no mat, chooses to sleep on the ground instead of in the trees because he likes the earth beneath his fingers, the solid promise of place to run instead of fall.

* * *

We all wake in the morning weary, expecting threat. There have to be big groups now, at least two. Our alliance is unlikely, since we aren't the Demigods. Poorer republics hardly ever team up, especially in a group so large as five.

"I think we should go to the mountain," I say after breakfast, try to twist my sweaty hair into decent-made braids. It's getting hotter in the arena, like the Gamesmakers are going to cook us from the inside out.

"Why?" asks Artemis, leveling her bow and taking aim at imaginary target.

"It'll provide good cover," I say, not mentioning the fact that that is where Hades and Hestia said they'd go, that they won't hurt us if we follow after. At least I think they won't. "It's away from the Demigods, at least."

"I still say we attack them head-on," Artemis says, casting a bold glance at me.

"Apollo's no archer right now," I say, daring her to challenge me on it because we both know he isn't. An archer with a bum shoulder is like a viper without venom just an empty threat.

Artemis glares at me, but her twin pats her on the back in assurance. "I think Kore has a point, sis. Just a couple of days, so I can heal some more. Then we'll go after the others."

Artemis is hard for a moment, before she sighs. "Alright," she says. "But if we get killed, I blame Kore."

"I'll take full responsibility," I say with a wave of the hand. "You can beat the shit out of me in the afterlife."

"Looking forwards to it," Artemis smiles, the first real smile she's given in two days.

I grin back, glance over to Pan who's shaking as he always is, rabbit hidden from the fox. _Giant foxes that allude the chase in this arena's case._ "Do you want to come with?" I ask him.

He blinks at the offer, like he didn't expect us to keep him around, but then he opens his mouth, ready to speak, and it's met with thunder.

We all glance to the heavens, guessing the cool relief of rain, but then the ground shakes and it's anything_ but_ relief. Everyone looks at one another, expressions mirror confusion. The vibrations grow stronger by the second, before the sound of howling screams in the distance.

"No," says Apollo with morbid fear. "No w_ay_…"

"The hounds," says Artemis, poised for run. "It's those fucking hounds!"

There is soon a roar to accompany the howling. "And that cat-thing!" Hebe says, paling.

I take one look at everyone, at the blatant terror in their faces. "Well," I say, stringing on my pack in haste. "Let's not wait to find out!"

They all grab their things quickly, race into the forest after me as the stampede grows closer. "Shouldn't we climb a tree or something?!" Apollo screams over his sprinting and the din of oncoming threat.

"And if some of those things can climb trees too?" I ask.

"Good point!" he says, and we keep running.

* * *

It's only with the nip of mythical beasts on our heals that we're lead straight back to the cornucopia like livestock to the slaughter, but once there, we're not the only ones. Every tributes stands in a circle, wild monsters snapping and growling, but coming no closer.

Tributes stare at each other as the animals retreat, not a one trying for a bite. They stay close enough to make sure we can't leave the meadow, trapped little things to bait. And we're all equal matches of wide-eyed stare, on the offensive and ready for kill when static crackles, an intercom overhead.

"Welcome tributes!" calls out the voice of Dionysus Bacchus, cheery and clean. "Don't mind the beasts, they will not harm you without our instruction. But, I'm getting off topic. For, you see, we are pleased to have brought you to the first annual _Pantheon_ of our beloved Divinity Games! Rule one of this little party is _no killing allowed._ Everyone put your weapons down we wish peace for you all in this night. The Fates are in _everyone's_ favor tonight my friends!"

This everyone in question looks startled, weapons still raised like they don't believe it. Because this _must_ be a joke, right? No killing? What in the world kind of rule is that in a game made for such a thing?

"We tell no lies, tributes," says Dionysus then. "Tonight is made for feasting and friendly fun."

Oh, yeah, he's definitely kidding... _right_?


	14. Men in Spoils

We lay in shadows, the night tumulus around us from howls and moans in the trees beyond.

I hug my pillow tighter to my chest, bite into the skin of my lip until the taste of copper stains my tongue. There will be no sleep tonight, not at the expense of my life or Hebe's or the twins or even Pan's.

Across the space I catch eyes of darkness, of the Underworld which they call the harsher parts of his home. "Are you okay?" he mouths.

"Yes." I mouth back. "Are you?"

He nods, glances down to a sleepy Hestia who has her head rested in his lap and is snoring little girl sniffles. She has a cold, the wetlands at the base of the mountains seeped into her bones and trying to turn her cells to rot.

There was medicine in the cornucopia, a feast fit for Gods. New clothes, new weapons, old faces. The heads of dead tributes hang from spikes in a ring around the meadow, warning guards that if you take a step past them the beasts beyond will tear you apart.

Rule two of the Pantheon: you will remain in the party ring until the morning light.

It's almost as ridiculous as rule one: no killing. You can tell all of the tributes are itching for some blood, some split skin, some dead hearts. From the moment Dionysus said there would be peace, we have all wanted the opposite.

I look to Artemis, swaying under the darkness and ready to doze off, Morpheus threatening her vigil. Apollo is already knocked out, snoring with drool running onto his twin's thigh where he rests his head as if Artemis is his personal pillow, the same way Hestia does with Hades. But there is something inherently intimate about the way Artemis caresses Apollo's hair back from his face, whereas with Hades it is nothing but paternal concern for his baby cousin.

I don't blame the twins for their affections of each other; Mother always said the only people you can trust in this world is your family. I never felt intimate want for Plutus, yet I would have given my life for his had I been able to take his place when he was whipped. But the guards held me down, opened my eyes when I forced them shut and told me to watch, watch what happened to a big-shot nobody field hand boy with a traitorous mouth.

Now memory Plutus' screams mix in with the howls of the animals beyond.

* * *

We all looked like scared deer after Dionysus disconnected from the arena intercom, told us to be good and recuperate and make some new allies. "Get to know your fellow tributes," he said, and what I heard was, "Give a soul, a name to the prey so you know how much of a killer you really are."

I bet the audience of the Capital is at home in front of their television screens just licking this up, watching us sweat until the light of dawn when a whole new bloodbath will begin. Some tributes cannot help but sleep, others sit awake like wild wolves ready for the hunt of morn.

Ares leers at me from across the bonfire set by the Gamesmakers as soon as night fell. His eyes shine golden in the light, red at the edges. He isn't aware of the death-glare Hades is sending him, only of my shaking hands and copper mouth and how he would probably like to swallow my blood of his own drawing like he did earlier before I left him with that ugly bruise on his face.

Hephaestus, the lame boy from Tría, was the first to take Dionysus' words at fault. He limped to the cornucopia with an air of carelessness, grabbed a leg of lamb and tore into it with metal teeth. The Demigods followed, and then those from the middle districts as well. Artemis and Apollo dragged Hebe and I along so they could secure new golden bows, and Pan tagged with on trembling instinct.

That's where I ran into Hades again, where he saw the pin sticking to my corset and his eyes went wide. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

"My friend from back home," I answered.

"It's from my republic," he said.

I nodded. "I know."

Nothing else was said between the two of us, silent exchange of words in fleeting glances. _You're alive_, our eyes said, followed by an unbidden feeling of relief. I can't explain it, I really can't. I just know that since that day he decided to take me at my word I wouldn't hurt Hestia, things have been different for us. We aren't competitors; not until the very moment it matters will we be.

* * *

I check on Hebe again, sleeping little girl curled with Pan for warmth under triple-thread tapestries made of the Capital's finest ordered silk. She said that back in her republic it would have taken them three weeks to stitch just a row of that kind of design, and now it's simply a blanket thrown here on the dirty ground about to be soaked in the blood of innocent children used as a blunt tool to show the citizens of Elláda how little they mean to the Capital, ants under their thumb.

* * *

It was only when I split from my group, just for a second in sight of a pretty, sparkling scythe plastered at the edge of the cornucopia, that Ares caught me, a slithering serpent with venom in the mouth. Pressed his body into the back of mine and bowed me into the golden horn, teeth sinking into my pulse just a moment. He was excited, evidence pressing into my lower back as he laughed and I trembled.

"I've got you, Énteka," he said, grinding his erection into my backside as I tried not to cry out in panicked violation. "In the morning you're going to die, but first I think me and you are going to have a little _fun_." He was circling his hips into me suggestively and I thought I could kill him right there if not for the damned rules, that I could tear out his throat with my teeth the way he'd mocked with me.

"I hope your actions support your mouth," I said to him, did not let my voice break. "Otherwise _I'll_ be the one slitting _your_ throat, Dyo."

I slammed my head back into his nose then, because while Dionysus said there could be no killing, he'd hinted a bit of violence wasn't bad. And Ares had bitten deep enough to draw blood; I wasn't about to not repay the favor.

He howled.

I walked away even as he clutched his pretty golden mouth where the lip had split and his pretty golden nose where the cartilage had _crunch_ed to my satisfactory, pretty no more even as he spit curses after me. It was Artemis who saw the blood on my neck first, held up a vial of medicine she'd just used half of on Apollo's stab wound. There was just a scar on his skin now, like there had never been a wound at all. The medicine did the same for my neck, but I know Hades saw the red before it was completely gone.

It's the reason he looks at me in concern now.

There's another girl awake too, the tribute from Enás named Hera who glares at her partner, Zeus, with malice and a secret want. She pays no attention to the rest of us, doesn't see the point and doesn't care, this porcelain and steel skinned woman-girl with a name fit for a queen.

See, I know _all_ the names now. Dionysus came back on over the intercom and told us to form a circle, say our name and a little bit about ourselves. While most idealized it as a stunt to draw the attentions of sponsors, I took it for what it really was: the equivalent of madness. Of control. State your name, your story for the record. The Capital will wipe it away with the flick of a wrist, with sacrificial killers. We mean that little to them, pawns.

Because the Victors of these games are not the Gods here, but President Kronus and all his little followers. They are the ones that decide life or death, decide _fate_. They sit on their thrones and deem who is worthy of life and who isn't. But I'm willing to bet they all bleed like us, that if I could stick in a knife in them, that even they, the _Gods_ would die. Because Gods are just men in spoils; deities are mortals with a spin.

We use the word God to give meaning to things we can't otherwise give meaning to. Because surely if you are almighty then even killing innocents can't be wrong, can it? Surely if you are almighty then your rule is law. None can oppose it. Why would they when you are ethereal?

The taste of pomegranate is still sweet on my tongue. Hestia skipped the distance between her alliance and mine, a fine line, to give me six tiny seeds. "From me and Hades," she said, and the latter looked at me in awe when I took the forbidden fruit and swallowed each seed with purpose.

_Truth_, I told him. _Not deceit._

And I know it isn't healthy to be thinking of him so much, to be analyzing his movements instead of Ares' or that deranged girl Eris from Exí who supposedly killed neighborhood pets for fun in her republic, insane like her partner before Hades ran him through with a sword. I shouldn't care so much about that, about how Hades saved me in that moment even though Poseidon from Téssera got the kill count for finishing the Exi boy off before he bled out.

And I _really _shouldn't care about the draw I have towards Hades either, the quirk of his scarred lips or glint in his eyes or the way he's almost so dangerous and unattractive and dark and good that he makes my palms sweat in an abstract want.

"You should just fuck him," Artemis mumbles, and I glance over in alarm to see her propped up against her lush pillows courtesy of Pantheon gift, arms crossed on her chest and one eye cracked open. She has something new on, a draping toga with breastplate and the peacock feathers in her hair replaced for sprigs of amaranth.

"What?" I ask her, blinking.

"Fuck. Him." she reiterates. "We're all gonna die here anyhow, huh? May as well soil the maiden bit and go down kicking."

"He's my competition, Artemis," I say, giving her a look of discipline.

"So am I," she says, not flinching under the weight of her words. "We all are, Kore. But for now we're neutral, as long as we can be before we have to turn on each other and save ourselves. May as well take advantage of it. Lover boy over there wants the Demigods dead before you, so get everything you can out of life before it ends."

"Who says I'm going to die here?" I ask her, half from denial and half from sleep deprivation.

"Fate," she deadpans. "If it isn't in this arena, it will be somewhere else someday. Even the Gods die, Kore. That's how the world works."

I swallow at that, acid in my lungs. Glance to Hades and find him looking on in curiosity, sharpening his new sword on a stone. He's got a helm now too, a color like his cape that makes him invisible with the environment.

"I wouldn't know what to do," I confess to Artemis, because while I remember the way Prometheus touched me when we shared those few kisses before I was sent into the Games to fear for my life, I also remember I didn't really touch him back. Just fists in his shirt, his tongue in my mouth, whispers of my mother's name. How does one have sex like _that_? "The maiden nickname fits all too well."

"Well," says Artemis, "you kiss him, and then you touch his cock and when he touches your cunt you direct him to the clitoris. And make him keep touching it with his cock in you, because it won't be much fun if he doesn't. Men are always missing things like that bunch of fumbling, bloody idiots, if you ask me. Girls are better about it; they know just where to go. I could show you, if you want?"

"I know where to touch," I tell her, cheeks heating at the idea this could all be presented on a television screen in front of my mother right now my overprotective, sheltering mother who wanted me to take a vow of chastity rather than be dragged away from her by young love.

_Too late for that,_ a voice in the back of my head whispers. _You're fighting for your life against other innocent kids; the last thing she's worried about is you falling in love and getting married._

"I could still show you," Artemis smirks. "I bet you taste pretty, like lilies and fresh soil, or maybe lavender and cypress wood."

My blush deepens and I toss a pebble at her head. "You're as insufferable as your brother."

She laughs, glances down at her sleeping twin with a smile that soon turns into a sad coo. "He always comes back, y'know," she says. "We both do. Family's the only real thing you can count on."

"I know," I say to her, eyes itching as I remember the agony etched on Plutus' face as he died, the madness in my mother's eyes when she told me to win before being dragged out of Enteka's temple and I was boarded on a train to death. The last touch of my father before I never saw him again. "I know."

* * *

I realize that this place is sure to be a gravesite the moment the animals stop howling.

One breath the forest around us is alive with myths, and in the next everything is silent. Crickets chirp, starjars sing, and I am left gasping for air. Some others still sleep, the fire having burnt out long ago so they burrow under their beds for warmth.

_What was the point of any of this?_ I wonder, keeping weary eye on the horizon as it begins to turn from blue to gray in light. _To bring us together in a slaughterhouse? _What will it do besides speed up means to an end? I thought they liked a long show, not one over in a week and a half.

Pan is the first of my little group to rouse. He's got sleepy eyes and pale skin and I reach out a dark hand in contrast to give him a canteen to drink from. He sniffs the water for hints of betrayal I flinch a bit at that before taking a cautious sip. And then another, another, one last pull and then he's handing the canteen back.

I close it, fasten it to my pack and pick up my new scythe, steel shining in the embers of the bonfire, chain swinging. There's a touch of pink on the horizon; I stoop to shake Artemis awake and she lashes out with a knife from nowhere, delirious, before registering the spring of my eyes and kicking her twin out of slumber.

They wake Hebe next, and I see Hades across the way quietly tapping Hestia on the shoulder.

Ares rouses his allies with threats to get up or he'll slit their throats, and one by one his yelling wakes the rest of the tributes. It's only when the last sleepy body stands to shake the crick in their neck that the intercom crackles overhead, Dionysus calling out in a cheerful voice.

"Good morning tributes!" he says peachily. "It was such a treat to watch you all interact! Such unity in our republics! But remember, there must always be order as well. That is why I regret to inform you that the Pantheon has now come to a close." The words echo just as the fake sun rises, morning light threatening the kiss of Thanatos, the Death God, the first winner of these Death Games.

Every tribute comes alert at that, raise their weapons with a step to kill or run.

"But before you get too ahead of me!" Dionysus quickly calls in retract. "We must all remember the chaos we once had, that the Capital brought order upon. The animals they brought down."

The howls of the forest begin anew, but this time they don't stop at the meadow's edge. The beasts creep in on fog of nightmares, glowing eyes and snapping jaws. There are lions with scorpion tails and hounds with rotted skin and giants serpents with goats' legs and bulls on near human feet.

"Oh _Gods_," Artemis whispers next to me.

I think some other tributes say the same, but I am looking at Hades, his panic for Hestia, his panic for me, my panic for us all.

"Tributes," calls Dionysus, a smile in his flighty voice. "Find your order in the chaos!"

And it's then the animals rush us, their howls drowned by our screams, our blood.


	15. Pain to Keep Me Grounded

The eruption is so instantaneous I'm not sure it's real, for a moment.

But I don't stick around to double-check; grab the nearest hand of someone in my group out of pure protective instinct and run. It's Pan, his field eyes wide and panicked. I catch glimpse of Artemis and Apollo running with Hebe in tow, trying to get to the other side of the forest edge even as those rotted hounds the twins are so afraid of howl at them, giving chase.

And there's a scream ripping through the meadow, the sick crunch of bone as a lion the size of a small house splits that wild girl from Éxi– Eris– into pieces. I pull Pan forcefully along when he freezes in fear at the sight. "No," I say. "Keep running!"

More screams echo, more blood-curdling sounds of skin and muscle and bone tearing apart. There's the threat of rabid snarling behind Pan and I, even as we take faster flight. I glance over my shoulder, catching glimpse of a serpent with the legs of a bull, the teeth of a monster I couldn't even begin to identify.

Pan is crying, stumbling over his own feet and the natural limp in his step. "Come _on_," I urge him. "Hurry! F_as_te_r_!"

"I can't," he whines, voice smaller and more timid than the rustle of a tree's leaf. "I _can't_!"

I realize the certainty in his words as the serpent creature snaps out at us in a menacing hiss. And for a split second, I think of leaving him behind, of saving myself. It's almost tempting, an easy thing. Just let go of his hand and shove him like a lamb to slaughter. Run off and live to see another moment.

_No._

I am not a butcher, a thing without honor. If I am going to kill, it won't be innocents. Not for the reason of saving myself.

It's then I shove Pan forwards, skid my own feet to a stop. He doesn't wait for me to tell him to keep going; he simply _runs_ and doesn't look back at me. I stare after him only a moment before he disappears into the trees, grab the chain of the scythe I have hooked into my pack, thankful the Gamesmakers gave the tributes at least a moment to gather their things before unleashing chaos upon us.

The serpent creature is only a few yards away now, eyes glistening red in the dawn as it realizes with glee it no longer has to chase its prey down. But if it thinks I'll give up without a fight, it's wrong. I didn't just blatantly ignore Prometheus' orders to leave Pan to his own devices and risk myself to save the boy only to die easy. Especially at the mouth of an ugly, slimy Capital mutt.

Swinging the chain of the scythe at my side, I let it do a few loops, a crisscross of momentum before swinging out, the serpent hissing as the scythe catches at its legs. I pull the chain back towards me, take the creature's hooved feet off in a spray of blood and tendom. It falls to the ground with a roar, and I don't chance anything as I swing the scythe out again, get it clean between its shining eyes.

It's as adrenaline from the kill settles that I hear the running, the shouts.

"Gods," I sigh, because of course, _of course_ Ares would ruin my glory moment.

I catch enough sight of the blockade of Demigods being chased by a herd of ravenous cat-faced creatures to know I'm in trouble before hooking the scythe back over my shoulder and taking off at a full-out sprint.

The Demigods have seen me though, apparently. They follow after me, intent to kill even though they, the hunters, have become the hunted themselves. "Wait up Énteka!" Ares calls, and I curse my luck that he hasn't already been eaten. Of course the Fates would deny me such a gift. "I'd rather you be breakfast than me!"

"Go fuck yourself!" I scream back, an idiotically antagonizing thing to do but I've got so much adrenaline in me and have done an idiotic thing already by risking myself for Pan, that I figure why not add another strike to the list? If I'm going to go down, I'd like to do it with a bit of a flare.

I know, if anything, Plutus will welcome me into the afterlife with open arms for the remark; he'll probably even be laughing.

The running lasts for a bit after that, a steady chase. Soon I'm left gasping for air, a burn in my legs and lungs even as I tell myself to keep going, that if I stop I'm dead. I think of Ares pressing me into the cornucopia the night before, the smug edge of his voice. I think of the pure terror Hebe had when she explained that beast that chased her just a few days ago, the ones chasing me now. The look in my mother's eyes when she told me I could win. It's what keeps me running.

And when I finally come to a river a mile wide, a virtual stopping point, I don't hesitate. _Not today, Plutus, _I think as I take a deep breath and swan dive in. _You're going to have to wait for me a little longer. _

Years of swimming in the lakes back home take instinct. My pack serves as a floatation device even though the scythe tries to pull me down to the bottom of the water, and I kick my arms, my legs as the current rushes me downstream on a wild curve.

It's only when the Demigods come to the edge of the river and stop do I remember those fish women, the ones that ripped Chione apart. _Too late now,_ a voice inside of my heads registers just as the Demigods all jump in the water after me, beasts roaring at the river's edge for the missed meal. _But hey, at least you won't go alone._

The Demigods, it's obvious, aren't used to such strong-running water. They all seem to know how to swim, but their motions are clumsy. Even as Ares calls my name, threatens me, tries to chase, I quickly paddle myself away from him, swim with the current instead of against it like the others are doing. Water's funny that way– it's only the enemy if you fight it, but give it power and it's your best friend.

There's one Demigod girl that has seems to figure out the trick, swimming with the currents the same as I. But she doesn't come after me, not like I expect her to. She simply flies past, far, far downstream. I catch a flash of blonde hair and she's gone, a ghost of the sea while the rest of her group sputter and kick to stay afloat.

I snag the bank on the opposite side of the river, after a few minutes. Dig my fingers into the sand there and kick myself out of the water.

"You're dead, Enteka!" Ares calls after me as I stand on shaky legs, gasping for new breath. He can't get to me though, body tumbling downstream, threat empty. "I swear to the Gods, you're _dead_!"

Sneering, I flip him the bird.

He starts screaming then, tries to swim back towards me but the river has other ideas. Before long I can't even hear his tantrum anymore, he and the rest of the Demigods gone with the current. With a derisive snort, I hike my pack farther off my shoulders and trek away from the river's edge, soaking to the bone and entirely lost.

* * *

It's noon by the time I stop walking, no beasts on my tail, no other tributes either. The simulated sun is high in the fake sky, heat pouring in from everywhere. My clothes are completely dry now, thighs rubbing together with chafing sweat. I practically collapse in the middle of a foreign clearing, take my filled canteen out and drink until the dry is out of my mouth and I have a bit of saliva to naturally swallow with again.

I take off my boots that are still a bit damp and rub sore feet, find blisters on the heels and sigh. I have no idea where I am in this arena, not the slightest clue of which direction I ran or how far the river took me.

Every part of my body aches and it's now I realize that my group is completely split. I don't know if we're all even alive anymore. The last glimpse I caught of the twins and Hebe was grim, and who's to say that Pan got away from the madness after I sent him off? There could have been other monsters that found him besides that serpent I took out. Or maybe even another tribute tracked him down?

In all the panic I didn't listen for trumpets; I was too focused on staying alive. Now I regret it, know I'll sit in worry until the night.

Which I do, making small camp in a tree as the sun sets and nibbling on crab apples I found a few meters back.

It isn't long before the sky lights up, images flashing. One tribute, two tributes, three…_four_.

The last face that I see takes the air from my lungs. A sob trades place wtih the stolen breath, no tears to shed in shock, just a twisted knife to the chest.

Hebe's blue eyes stare out at me, her wild curls and bright smile. I clench my fists and bite my tongue until there's blood, there's pain to keep me grounded. Her image lasts just a few moments and it's gone, just like her.

Dead.

She's the last face to have appeared, everyone else safe. And while I may have saved Pan, I didn't save _her_, that little girl who'd never done anything wrong and just wanted to go back home to her brother. She was just fourteen, just a _child_. And she's dead.

I knock my head back into the tree trunk, tear teeth into my lip and close my eyes. _Oh Artemis,_ I think to myself softly. _What are you feeling now?_ Because while she still has Apollo, I know losing Hebe certainly must have broken her in some way. She'd been so mothering with the girl, so protective. And now to lose her?

And lose her to what? Another tribute, those hounds?

_It doesn't even matter,_ I decide eventually. Because at whoever or whatever's hands, Hebe is still dead. She'll never go home, never grow up to be a doctor and fall in love and get married and have children of her own so they can be thrown into these stupid, cruel Games for slaughter.

All because the Capital wants control.

"Bastards," I whisper under my breath, the only thing I can do because I am at their mercy, left to fall asleep with a heavy heart.

* * *

I'm kneeling by a small pool of water, washing the dirt off of my hands and face, when it finds me.

It's been a day since the end of the Pantheon, a day since Hebe's death. I've been wondering the forest, eating fruit from trees, waiting for the sound of a trumpet that doesn't play. So far I have not run into any other tributes, any beasts that now haunt my nightmares, mouths dripping blood as red as pomegranates.

The entire time I've been left with just one canteen of water, forcing me to move for a new source to refill it. The pool called, iodine drops from my pack taking out any lingering rot as I drink my fill, pour handfuls of cold across my heated skin. I have my eyes closed, the rest of my senses attuned.

So of course I hear the twig snap, open my eyes anew to the source.

The giant fox stands at perch, as beautiful and impossibly large as I remember it. It's the colors of sunset, all-seeing gaze holding my own. With a twitch of its tail, a hint of challenge, it races off. And just like last time, I follow it. Don't even give the idea second thought, just run as fast as I can, as if the Demigods and their hunters are at my heels again.

Where the fox is leading me, I haven't the slightest idea. We weave and turn through the forest, branches whipping at my skin to leave cut. I ignore the pain, the renewed burn in my legs and lungs.

This time I am not going to lose sight of that fox– I _refuse _to.

And just as the hard edge in me settles, the determination to catch this creature, I run into what feels like a brick wall.

But this brick wall makes sound, a grunt as it falls to the ground with me. Instantly I recover and grab the scythe dangling from the side of my pack, roll into a crouch of defense just as the figure stands tall, weapon at the ready.

The eyes I meet are not the ones I expected though, namely because they're alone without their constant companion's set.

"Hades," I say, expression guarded.

He grips the hilt of his sword tighter, shoulders squared as a hint of a smile touches the corners of his scarred mouth. "Kore," he says, and it sounds like an offer I can't refuse.


	16. I Trust You

I stare him down trying to be tough, but he sees through the façade right away.

"Where's Hestia?" I ask him, breath coming harsh as the adrenaline in my system spikes, still and no longer running, the burn in my lungs virtually unbearable.

"I don't know," he says, looking sore. And then he adds, "I'm sorry about your friend– the girl from Októ."

"Her name was Hebe," I tell him, shifting nervously on foot. Neither of us have put down our weapons yet, the muscles in my legs beginning to cramp from staying crouched and on the defensive.

"Well, I'm sorry," he says.

I bite my lip at the comment and, despite my better instinct, stand to my full height, lowering the scythe in my hands just a little. "When did you and Hestia get separated?"

"After the chaos broke out back at the cornucopia," Hades says, bringing his sword down to his side; his forehead shines with sweat and his breath is as rapid as my own, like he's been chasing giant foxes too. "These bull-things were tracking us and I got her into a tree and tried to throw them off her trail. I ended up falling down a hill somewhere; passed out. When I went to look for Hestia after I woke up a few hours later, she was gone."

"Lucky those bulls didn't come after you then," I say, eye the helm on his head and figure the only reason he didn't die from what must have been a pretty large fall was because it kept his brains intact. "How'd you get here, anyways?"

For a moment, Hades' expression draws blank. And then he says, "You're gonna think I'm crazy."

"After everything I've seen in this arena, probably not," I tell him.

He wavers still, but just a bit before he says, "I was…um, uh– I was chasing this giant…fox."

My eyes turn wide; I blink the expression away and clear my throat after second's consideration. "I thought I was the only one who'd seen it."

Hades' gaze snaps up to meet mine, though I try to avoid direct eye-contact at the weight of his stare. "There must be two of them, then."

"Yeah," I agree, scratch the back of my head after I loop the scythe around my shoulder, because really, there is no threat between him and me. "But what are they made for? What's their purpose?"

"I don't know," Hades says, glances around us as if the foxes will be there waiting with the answers. "I wanna find out though."

"Mine headed that way," I say, pointing over his shoulder, a sudden tinge of anger that the fox is gone now when I was right on its beautiful, haunting tail. "And I was _so close_ to catching it before _you_ ran into me."

"_Me_?" he scoffs. "The running into was _your_ fault!"

"Was _not_," I argue pettily, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Was _too_," he says, glaring at me.

We square off with equal glowers for a moment, nothing but tension, before Hades visibly deflates and shakes his head. "Look," he says after a terse minute of awkward silence. "We're both separated from our groups, and we both wanna get that fox– so maybe we should…"

"What?" I ask him with a raised brow. "Team up? I thought you didn't want to ally with me."

"I never said _you_ specifically," he snaps. "Only your other allies. I don't like those twins, and I don't like your republic mate. What happened to him anyway? Last I saw you were runnin' off with him in tow."

I look away at that, clear my throat. "There was something chasing us," I say. "Pan was slow and so I sent him off and killed it. I don't know where he went."

"So he just left you?" Hades asks with a smug sort of tone, like that proves his dislike for Pan is valid.

"_No_," I argue. "I sent him off." I shouldn't really have to justify Pan, though, and Hades knows it. These Games aren't meant about having each other's back, and Pan was just a scared little boy who saw a chance to live another breath and took it. Besides, wasn't I the one that had thought about leaving him to die in the first place?

"Sure," Hades drawls, his self-satisfied tone making my blood boil.

"Look," I say, pointing an accusing index finger at him. "If you're going to be a _jerk_ then I don't think it's a good idea we team up, lest I kill you."

He chuckles, turns on his heal and starts walking in the direction I signaled my fox went, calling over his shoulder, "One of us is going to have to do that job in the end, anyways."

My shoulders slump when his words sink in, mind dizzy as I hurry to follow after his steady gate.

* * *

We make no ground on the fox, even as dusk falls upon us, finding the creature a lost cause. There aren't even prints to track.

"Do you wanna stop for the night?" is the first full sentence Hades has said to me since we started walking. It seems his silence is not simply a guard against competitors like I thought it to be originally, but just the way he is. Stoic, like a piece of stone covered in the smell of blood and sweat and coal.

"Sure," I tell him, eyes roving up and down his frame. I can see the knives stashed on him, pressing through the folds of his tunic and leggings. "But if you try to kill me, I'll cut your cock off."

His expression pulls into one of amusement at that, shucking his pack off under a nearby tree and plopping down to the forest floor, long legs stretched out before him. I notice then he's probably about as tall as Ares, which is pretty tall, but he doesn't have that hulking kind of stature, couldn't overpower me easily. He's too lean, on the verge of starved but with wiry muscles which I guess is from working in the coalmines his republic are famous for.

I sit next to him after a moment, kick at some dirt under my boot and stare off into the distance, listening for any sign of threat. In my peripheral vision I see Hades digging through his pack, setting my nerves off. I have the knife I got in the beginning of the Games stashed at my hip underneath the new tunic I got during the Pantheon; press my hand against the hilt and watch Hades uneasily until I see him pull out…_food_.

My mouth waters as my hand drops to my lap with a heavy sigh, eyes lighting up when I see what he's holding: a _pomegranate_.

He watches me eyeing the fruit as he pulls it in half with bare hands, juice dripping down the tanned flesh of his fingers. "I saw you eating these like crazy at the Pantheon the other day," he says, handing me half. "We don't have them in Dodeka and I wanted to try one– they're good."

"Pomegranates," I tell him, biting into the skin despite the bitter taste, letting the sweetness of the seeds burst on my tongue to quell it. "We can only grow them in Énteka during the winter– my mother's gardens are one of the only places that produce them in Eleusinian."

"What's Eleusinian?" Hades asks, brows drawing together as he picks the seeds out and pops them in his mouth, humming with appreciation.

"It's the providence I live in," I say to him with a shrug.

"Like the Underworld?" Hades asks, giving me a hint of a smile.

"Yeah," I tell him. "But less covered in coal dust."

"That's right," he says, licking pomegranate juice off of his crooked teeth. "Your republic goes for flowers and produce."

"You say that like it's a weak thing," I tell him, feeling suddenly cross. "You do realize that even the prettiest flowers have thorns, don't you?"

He looks at me then, lets his eyes trail leisurely and I self-consciously cross my arms over my chest, making him chuckle. "You mean like _you_, the little maiden of all of Elláda?"

"Don't call me that," I snap, instantly closing my mouth and glaring at the ground. I know Prometheus is cursing at me through the television screen for it, probably pissed he's going to have to do some kind of damage control. I'm supposed to love the name after all, let the sponsors think it of me so they can bid for a go-round in the sheets and keep me alive.

"But isn't that your shtick?" Hades asks, smirking.

And it makes me blood boil so much, that little arrogance he has at suddenly getting under my skin, that I don't even think better of it when I tackle him to the ground, pomegranates left forgotten in the mud. I get my legs on either side of his waist, use my weight against him to pin him down and dig the heels of my pals below his collarbones, teeth bared.

"Don't think I won't kill you," I say, nose to nose and eyes hard.

He blinks up at me like he's looking in a new light before he shakes his head, hands locked on my hips and expression gone hard once more. "You won't; who would take care of Hestia then?"

And for a moment, I don't answer him; keep my stance atop him. It's only when his words sink in that I relax, roll off of him onto the ground and stare up at the rapidly darkening sky blankly. He sits up next to me, draws gangly knees into broad chest and sets his chin atop them. I look at him softly, the way he appears almost like a lost little boy in worry for his cousin now that he remembers she's off on her own somewhere out there with predators at all corners of the arena waiting to strike.

His sudden innocence doesn't fit with the ideas I have of him– the somberness and the unyielding eyes when he ran that boy through with his sword, spray of blood.

"Why did you save me?" I ask, distill the silence between us.

He doesn't answer me right away, keeps staring forwards before he eventually says, "Because I trust you."

"Why?"

"Because you're _good_," he says, glances at me with an unreadable expression. "You didn't have ta help Hestia the way you did during training. Hell, I almost got us killed the other day when I thought we could eat castor berries, but Hestia said that you said not to eat 'em. I ended up finding a few dead starjars by the bush when I double-checked. You coulda just not told her– killed us off easy. Why didn't you?"

"She looks like my little sister," I say. "They're both just innocent little kids. It'd be…_hard_ to kill her." Because I can't say I _won't_ kill her here in the arena, when cameras are on us from all angles, the Capital watching from beyond.

But Hades hears the hidden words, nods at me and picks up his forgotten pomegranate half, brushing the dirt off. "When we turn on each other," he says after a moment, "how do you want me to kill you?"

"Knife to the heart," I tell him tenderly, response instant. "How do you want me to kill you?"

"Slit my throat," he says, levels me with a measured glance. "Like a pig. That's all we are to everyone anyways. Pigs for slaughter, just to keep precious _order_."

My hands clench at his bold words– he knows he would be killed for them if he were to make it out of the arena. And it's in that moment I know he doesn't plan on making it out– plans instead on dying in this place to save Hestia, send his baby cousin home. I blink up at him, eyes shifting to his mouth where pomegranate juice drips like blood. And I have the sudden urge to kiss him, the first time I have wanted to kiss anyone since a girl named Daphne who was in my ninth year class of schooling because she shared strawberries with me at lunch and I liked her foreign fair skin and red hair.

I stave myself off from it now with Hades, unlike how I did with Daphne and the quick kiss I stole, sit up fully and reach forwards for my forgotten pomegranate half, dusting it off the same as Hades did his own. "What's your favorite color?" I ask him after a moment, hoping more than hope it isn't red, like massacre and violence.

"Blue," he says, easing my nerves. "When I was younger and wanted to get away from my older sisters– they're kinda vicious– I'd go to this meadow on the outskirts of town, sit and stare at the sky for hours. Came to like that color a lot 'cause it meant calm."

"Here is means _heat_," I frown.

He groans. "Don't remind me. I haven't ever sweat so much in my life, and I work next to _fire_ every day."

"I k_no_w," I tell him, rustling my sweaty hair off shoulders for emphasis. "Even in the fields it doesn't get this bad, and this is coming from a girl who watched her stepfather die of heat stroke."

Hades glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, puckers scarred lips. "What about your real father?"

"He died of typhus," I say. "Cut his arm on a rusty combine."

"Did he pass easy?" Hades asks, eyes shining.

I shake my head. "I was young, but I do remember the seizures, the screaming, the lockjaw. He had a real bad infection, and no matter what herbs my ma and I used on him, it didn't help. He died after two weeks; we buried him out in my ma's garden, planted roses on top of him."

"Don't you have cemeteries in your republic?"

"The fields," I tell him, and at his confused expression I smile. "How do you think we get such lively crops? What better to fuel the soil than dead flesh?"

And Hades, so constantly stoic, grimaces. "You mean we're eating food fertilized by corpses right now?"

"No," I giggle despite myself, twirl my pomegranate half in my hands. "This is from the Capital. They only grow naturally in the winter, remember?"

Hades scowls none the less, takes more ginger bites from his fruit until it's gone. "You must have a lot of wheat in your republic too, then."

"Why do you say that?" I ask him, wiping leftover juice off the corners of my mouth.

He smirks. "Your hips," he says.

I glance at said hips in question, the plushness of them. And though they've lessened since my time in the Games without food, they're still substantial. There is still roundness to my stomach, fullness to my breasts and the curve of where my thighs mash together even when I space my legs wide apart. And suddenly a blush heats my cheeks, teeth worrying at lip as I look over to Hades with a soft glare.

"Pervert," I tell him.

He shrugs, leans back on his elbows with a content sort of laugh. "I'm not the only one who noticed. Hell, all of Ellada has noticed."

"Don't remind me," I say, his earlier words with a spin as I lie back in the dirt, shaking my head. I remember the glint in Hermes' eyes on stage during the interviews then, the threat of strange men and women in a lavish Capital bed.

_They own you when you win._

"Isn't it a good thing?" Hades asks, shaking me of morbid reprieves. "I thought that's why you're getting so much attention– you don't look like the other girls. You're–"

"Country bred," I cut him off, grit my teeth. "Meat on my bones. Dark skin, wild hair, mothering hips, tight ass. Trust me, I've heard it before; Énteka boys are just as crude as the rest."

"I wasn't going to say any of that," Hades murmurs, staring at me with honest eyes. "I was going to say you're _real_."

And at that I'm caught off guard, eyes wide as saucers as we lapse into silence.

* * *

It turns out Hades can't climb trees well.

"I'm used to going underground, not above it," he admits at my frustrations when he keeps slipping on the branches and I have to catch him from falling. "Usually Hestia and I just sleep on the ground."

"That's not safe," I say to him. "In case you don't remember, I have a very prissy Demigod after me that would jump at the chance to kill us in our sleep."

"Maybe I shouldn't have teamed up with you after all," Hades says, but he is only joking, which surprises me.

I smile soft at him, think for a second before taking some rope out of my bag. "Loop it around your waist," I tell him. "I'll pull you up."

"Are you sure?" he asks, skeptical.

"Your scrawny ass?" I laugh. "No problem."

We only get him halfway up by the end of it, which is better than nothing I figure and help him tie in. "I'm gonna go up a bit farther," I say to him after he's strapped tight, can't even wiggle his way out unless I undo his rope because he's learned that when I was tying those ropes back in the training center it wasn't just for show. "Make sure you don't stab me in my sleep that way."

"No worries of that anyways," he says. "I need you alive for now."

"Why?" I ask, stilling my movements of tightening the ropes momentarily.

"Because I trust you," he says, earlier statement echoed as he meets my eye with sincerity.

And, stupidly, I answer him, "I guess I trust you too," strapping myself to the branch next to him to sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** I actually kind of love this chapter even though it's a bit scattered; tell me what you think?


	17. Catching Butterflies

When I wake in the morning, it's to find Hades hanging sideways and snoring, drool dripping down the side of his face.

The sight makes me smile despite better judgment; I can feel affection for him building in my chest the same way it did for Hestia, for Pan, Artemis and Apollo…_Hebe_. But no, I won't let my thoughts linger on the last name. The wound is still too fresh and I fear if I touch it the scab will rip, leak infection into my veins and threaten to poison the entire system, a parasite of loss sucking out the life in me.

Instead I untie myself from my resting branch after a few moments of watching Hades, whisper his name to rouse him. I am still weary of actually _touching_ him, because besides the few amiable brushes passed between us while I helped him up the tree, or the press of bodies when I threatened him last night, we have yet to use physical communication. It's been nothing but words, guarded ones at that except in the few moments my honesty spills out.

He wakes after a moment, blinking bleary eyes at me and seeming almost startled before his expression composes. "Um, can you…help me out?" he asks, glancing at his ropes.

His fingers are thick with sleep so he's no help and eventually I just tell him to grab the sides of the branch so he won't fall once I get his ropes undone. For Hades' part, he only slips a little before righting himself when he soon has no support but his own keeping him in the tree. I don't put the topes away though, instead loop one around his thin waist again.

"Is this really necessary?" he asks as we climb down the branches one by one.

"Don't want you dead yet," I tell him. "I need you alive."

"Why?" he asks, eyes wide like mine when I asked him the same thing the night before.

"Because I trust you, remember?" I tell him, and the way his expression shifts to one of tender memory has my heart stuttering in ways it shouldn't.

We make it to the forest floor in less time than it took to climb the tree last night, Hades stumbling on the last few branches and falling, bringing me with him. We fall in a tangled heap of limbs, my body atop him and splayed. For a second I'm worried either one of us broke something, but upon further inspection of all of our ligaments, we're both fine.

Hades has a cut on the side of his face though, a bit of blood dripping down to pool in the dimple of his left cheek. "You have…" I say, reaching out with hesitance. "Can I…?"

"What?" he asks, blinking at me, flinches when I go to wipe the blood away with my fingers but settles on a hiss as he feels the pain set in. "Oh; is it bad?"

"No," I say, retracting my hand and wiping red against the edge of my muted brown tunic. "Just a scratch."

"It's getting in my eye," he says, twitching as a new round of blood drips down his face. "Great."

"We can make it stop with sap," I tell him softly.

"Won't that bring infection?" he asks.

"No," I say. "As long as we clean the cut first, it does the opposite."

After a moment of consideration, he nods, takes out one of the knives he has stashed on him and digs it into the trunk of the tree beside us until it leaks sticky sweet. "Lucky we made camp in a maple," I tell him as I rip off a piece of my tunic hem, dab a bit of iodine from my pack on it and clean his cut softly, before smearing my fingers in the sap. "This is going to sting a little."

"It's fine," he says, tilting the injured side of his face towards me. I reach out and cover the wound with the maple sap, bite my lip nervously as Hades hisses at the burn of it.

"All done," I say after a moment, dab the stray strands of sap away with my improvised rag so that it doesn't run towards his eye too, like the blood.

"I probably look like an idiot now, right?" he asks, trying to give a smile as I stand and begin untying the ropes connecting us together.

"What makes you say that?" I ask him, stuffing the rope back into my pack once we're both free of it.

"Well, I can't climb or de-climb trees, so I dragged you down with me, banged myself up in the process, and now I got sap on my face. I'm sure all the viewers are laugin' at me right now."

I shake my head at him, trying not to laugh myself. "Hopefully we won't have to go through the fuss of tree climbing much longer," I say, thinking that maybe, just maybe someone or something will finish Ares off for us and we won't have to worry about the threat of him anymore– can sleep on the ground. I know the cricks in my back from hard branches would really like that.

But at the comment, Hades' face seems to fall. "Yeah, sure," he says, and gathers himself to full, towering height. "We should get going. I don't think we're gonna find that fox anytime soon, but maybe we can find Hestia or one of your allies."

"Okay," I say, puzzled at the abrupt coldness of his tone. "Do you wanna try finding breakfast first?"

He shrugs.

I blink at him, hike my pack farther up on my shoulders and shake my head.

We walk in silence for a bit, no crunch under our feet from light footfalls. When we come across a grove of blackberries I pull him over to them with me, begin picking around for breakfast and glance at Hades out of the corner of my eye. The sap has dried completely on his face now, a thin line of browned blood. It's threatening to crack with how deep his frown has settled into his expression.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, licking blackberry juice off of my lips once we've settled down to eat.

"Nothin'," he says, grabbing a handful of dirt and letting it scatter into the morning breeze.

"No," I tell him. "Seriously. If we're gonna be a team, you can tell me."

"This ain't no bonding experience, Kore," he says, turning to glare at me. I'm taken aback by it, scoot away because I can feel the anger radiating off of him in waves. "We aren't friends. We're _enemies_. We're supposed ta kill each other by the end of this."

"You can still tell me if something's wrong," I offer, feeling a sudden ice creep over my sense at the way he is acting. I don't consider us friends exactly, but I thought we were at least amiable after last night. He trusts me and I trust him– in a Game where you're fighting for your life that means something.

"No I can't!" he snaps, standing up and kicking the ground like a petulant child. "Look, like you said earlier, we won't be together long anyways so let's not pretend to be buddies here."

"I never said that!" I say, standing up like he did moments earlier. "When did I say that?!"

"You said that '_hopefully we won't have to go through the fuss of climbing trees much longer_' meaning you hope we split up soon!" he says, eyes downcast at the ground as if he is almost _hurt_ at the thought.

And for a moment I simply stare at him, heat still boiling the earlier cold from my blood as I say, "Stop putting words in my mouth." His gaze meets mine, expression guarded and I shake my head at him. "Hades, when I said that, I meant it as hopefully _Ares is dead_ soon, so we can sleep on the _ground_."

"We only teamed up to find the fox," Hades counters. "Now that we can't find it, what are we gonna do? I still got Hestia out there, and you have those twins and Pan."

"_So_?" I ask him. "We haven't found any of them yet, which means we can stick together _for now_. Why are you so upset about it?"

"I'm _not_," he insists, red tinging up his cheeks as he averts his eyes to somewhere in the distance.

"You _are_," I argue, then my tone softens as I think about it. "You…do you _wanna_ stick together?"

"What?" he asks.

"Are you annoyed by me?" I ask. "You said you trusted me, but that doesn't mean you _like_ me or anything, so I mean, if you don't wanna stick together I guess I can–"

"I like you," he interrupts, stance rigid and conflicted. "I like you more than I should, Kore. That's why we shouldn't stick together the moment we find other options. I don't…I don't wanna watch you die. I don't wanna kill you."

"What?" I ask, mirroring his earlier question.

He clenches his fist, inhales slowly. "Like I said last night, you're _good_. You're different from everyone else– you're _real_. I don't like watching real things be torn apart."

"What do you mean?" I ask him, limbs suddenly trembling under the weight of his words.

Sighing, Hades clears the few steps between us and looks down at me, shrugging with awkward movement. "When I was a kid, I liked catching butterflies. I know, it's stupid, but I just liked how they could be so ethereal and yet…_not_. It was like if I could touch them, keep them in a jar, then I had evidence things like that could exist. Were _real_. My mom always told me not to keep them though, that they needed to be let go. I didn't listen. And eventually, if my older sisters found them, they'd tear their wings off just to watch me cry about it.

"You're like those butterflies, Kore. Half the time I don't think you're real– I don't think _anyone_ thinks you're real, but you _are_. And then these Games, they're like my sisters, trying to tear your wings off and I don't think I could watch again. My mom was right– you need to be _free_," he says, staring at me with everything and nothing that I can't read.

"Hades…" I say, knowing I should object with him, knowing what he's hinting at and the way it doesn't go along with our plans. "What about–?" I should ask '_What about Hestia?_' but I can't make the words come out. My tongue is numb, sand in my throat as I stare up at him and feel the sting of tears at the back of my eyes.

What he's saying is treason.

What he's saying is something that makes my heart beat fast not because of danger, but because of the admittance behind it.

"Hades…" I repeat instead, branching up on my toes like I'm no longer in control of my body.

He seems to understand what I'm getting at right away, starts to close the space between us the same as me, noses touching before we stop, wild breaths and blinking eyes. He's waiting for me to finish this, to make the final move. And I wonder if we should we keep going? It's frivolous, both of us know– a stupid idea that will make everything that much worse when we have to watch the other die.

But then I think, if we're going to die anyways, why not give into it now?

Just as my resolve hardens, my lips quirk and touch his in the slightest, a veil of leather wraps around my neck, dragging me away.

* * *

I scream, habit I can't help as I'm yanked away from Hades' grip, choking and gagging at the binding around my neck.

I realize, all too quick, that it's a whip.

A _whip_– the catalyst that killed Plutus. A sort of panic sets in my chest then, fingers scrabbling to get the leather loose from around my throat as I'm dragged across the ground by it, gasping for breath as my skin burns under the bite of the weapon.

Hades is calling my name, diving after me to grab my feet. He's trying to hold me down but it's just making things worse, the struggle between him and the person pulling me back by the end of the whip's force is making the leather dig into my throat, strangling me that much quicker. In desperation I kick out, land my foot in Hades' shoulder and make him let go, trying to roll off of my back and onto my stomach, making the leather tear at the back of my neck instead of my windpipe.

It works, only just when suddenly the whip isn't even around my throat anymore. I sputter as the weapon cracks in the air, Hades shouting while I gasp for breath. Black spots dot my vision, clearing after what feels an eternity as I look up, finding a pair of boots stitched in blue with ocean waves and seashells. I follow the sight up to long legs, strong hips, narrow waist, ample chest, curved neck, pinched lips, until finally I meet the shining teal eyes of a girl with pale blonde hair.

Even in the fog of my brain, neurons put together her image– the girl from the river, the one that swam downstream and didn't touch me when she had the chance then, leaving the other Demigods of her pack behind.

But she has the chance to hurt me _now_, eagerly taking it as she pushes one long leg out and presses a foot between my shoulders from where I'm trying to stand on the ground, shoving my face into the mud. I groan, lay there for a moment as she laughs and the whip cracks, Hades cursing and footsteps moving through the foliage from beyond.

"Appears your boyfriend took the bait, then," the girl says, and before I can ask what she means, she grabs a knife from her belt and throws it.

I hear the sickening slick of blade embedding into flesh, the grunt Hades gives as he falls to the ground at my feet.

The girl standing above me takes her boot off of my back, calling, "Pan, tie her up."

My eyes widen, senses gone numb as I see a small form duck out from behind a tree, eyes downcast as Pan hurries towards me, steps on my back without a word. I'm still so in shock I can't move, air rushing anew from my lungs as Pan ties ropes around my wrists and Hades curses from somewhere at my feet, struggling as the girl does Gods know what with him.

"Pan," I say after a moment. "Pan, what are you _do_in_g_?"

"He's being smart," calls the girl, laughing seductively. "Sticking with the right people instead of your lovesick ass."

I ignore her, instead start wriggling under Pan until eventually he steps off of me. "Pan," I say again. "Pan, please?"

"Don't waste your breath," the girl says. "Why would he help you? The girl from his republic who's sucking up all the sponsors?"

Her words trigger memory of that night in our republic's holding quarters back at the tribute center, when I received my score and Pan ran to his room, slammed the door after glaring at me like I was his death certificate. Prometheus had told me that the reason for it all was because Pan had realized how slim his chances of surviving were when I was his republic partner, that since I was taking all of the sponsors he would have none to himself.

And Prometheus had said not to trust Pan– that he would turn on me.

I trusted him anyways.

_And look where it's landed you; should have listened, stupid girl._

I'm both angry and sad that Prometheus was right; I saw Pan as a lost child from my homelands and wanted to help him, bypassing all of the boy's obvious instinct for survival and thinking him harmless. I should have known better– he comes from Énteka, after all, where we learn from a young age you have to lie to survive, have to step in line and follow orders. Pan never received orders from Prometheus, so he's working under his own, and his own are ones that likely involve my death.

The forest echoes silence as Pan and the blonde girl work above Hades and I, and before long I hear the drag of body, the crunch as Hades falls next to me, sputtering with hands tied behind his back. The cut on the side of his face has split open again, and from the way he lays I can see the knife sticking out of his side, both wounds leaking blood onto the dirt below us and staining everything red.

"No," I whisper, and his eyes meet mine.

"I don't think she hit anything vital," he grits out, breath coming in rapid pants.

Tears prick my eyes as I look at him, how defenseless he's become in the span of just a few moments. "Hades," I say.

"Oh, he'll live," answers the girl instead, coming back into view with a wicked smile. "For now. See, your little lover boy there killed my republic mate. Shame– I liked Poseidon. He was very…_attentive_. So it seems since we can't find Dodéka's little cousin anywhere, we're going to have to settle for you, Maiden."

"Don't touch her!" Hades spits, only to land a sharp kick to the face, blood from his mouth spattering my cheek.

"_Stop it_!" I shout as the girl kicks him again.

She laughs. "Why should I?"

"Pan, please, do _something_!" I say instead of answering her.

And Pan, little, afraid Pan meets my eye for the first time with no hesitance, no fright as he takes a knife out of his belt. "I am," he says, angling the blade at me.

"Oh we're going to have loads of fun!" says the girl, flicks a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder and giggles. "By the way, I'm Aphrodite."


	18. Oceans of Red

There's a blur of forest, the sound of rushing blood.

"Come on, _com'mon_."

My legs burn, and so do my lungs. Hades' weight is pressing on me, pulling me to the ground. I won't let my knees buckle though; we have to keep going. If we stop then we're dead. If we even slow just a fraction of an inch, we're dead.

I can still feel the thrum in my fingers, Pan choking beneath me, pleading for life as his nails scraped into my flesh. With how raw my eyes are I can barely see which way Hades and I are going. I've never cried so hard in my life; it was worse than the night before the Games began. Then again, I don't think they truly started until today, until I took that little boy's life with his entire family, our entire republic watching me from the other side of a television screen. At the time, I didn't even feel regret about killing him; I simply felt regret about killing.

Now it's like an extra weight, tearing at the ligaments in my ankles as I push Hades forwards. He's bleeding, wincing with every step where the knife twisted in his side. Our blood is mixing together, the cuts on my body, namely my wrists, sliding with his blood down my legs, slippery wet. Untangling my ropes wasn't as difficult as trying not to cry out when my own knife bit into my flesh, _snick_, _snick _towards the bone.

"Hades, stay with me," I tell him, meeting his hazy gaze.

He nods, but it's weak and I know I will kill Aphrodite for this– I'll strangle her the way I did with Pan. But I won't cry; I'll laugh. Laugh the way she did when she was carving at me like a stuffed pig, reveling in Hades' protests. I thank the Gods that the sky finally settled into night; that she left us there on the forest floor with Pan to keep watch so she could catch their dinner, wanted to save us off through the night, the morning to be killed.

"I like torture," she said, insanity to rival even Ares. "Back home, I'd always gut the herrings so they didn't catch the fish first. We're just supposed to decapitate them, kill them quick. But where's the fun in that?"

Pan didn't see it coming, didn't know I'd been cutting at my ropes with every chance I got. When I knocked him to the ground, he tried to scream. I slithered my body over his like those serpents never got the chance, locked my fingers around his neck so he couldn't make another sound. And all I could think was that he just stood there, stood there and watched while Aphrodite made Hades and me into pieces of bloody, mangled art.

When the life left Pan's eyes, that's when it settled in– what I'd done. The crying lasted just a few moments, long enough for Hades to nudge the side of my leg with his head, eyes half-dead like the rest of him. I didn't know it was possible for a boy to scream so shrill, the way he did when Aphrodite pulled the knife from his belly and cauterized the wounds.

"You'll live for a while," she said. "I didn't hit anything vital. Infection will be the thing that kills you in the end. Énteka here won't be so lucky."

"I gotta stop," Hades says now, his legs praying for relief. "Kore, I have to stop."

"No," I argue savagely. "We gotta keep going."

"_You_ have to keep going," Hades says. "Leave me. You can make it. I'm done for."

"_No_!" I say this time, more shrill. "I won't."

"It's my fault you're in this mess in the first place," he says, voice on a broken whisper. "I'm so sorry she cut one of your wings."

"Stop talking like that," I say to him, the memory of his body pressed into mine as Aphrodite lashed the whip over my skin. "I know how your brother died; what an idiot. You can die like him now too," she said. Hades' touch was my only comfort, the only thing to keep me grounded. I still wonder if I was like that for Plutus, holding his hand until he died. "I won't leave you," I say to him again.

I won't lose him; I _can't_.

Our stumbling keeps up another mile, maybe. Hades and I are both crying by the end of it. I know his tears are from pain and fright; mine are a mixture, with guilt bleeding around the edges. I wonder if it hurt Pan too bad, when I killed him. His body gave up rather quickly, too small to go without oxygen for more than a minute. His eyes staring up at the treetops until I closed them; he won't ever open them again and that's my fault.

When I buckle in my next steps, neither Hades nor I can keep ourselves up this time. We fall to the ground in a heap much like when we tried to climb out of that tree this morning, faces in the dirt. I can feel it sliding into the cuts on my skin, the marks on my back. All I have on are my breast bindings and my leggings now, survival pack offering minimal reprieve from mud in all of my wounds everywhere. It's the same for Hades, his teeth gritting together as he tries not to scream.

Aphrodite has been following us for miles, the entire length of the arena it feels. I can hear her just meters away now, heavy breath and malice. I got her maybe three hours ago; recovered my scythe and my pack before Hades and I ran. Aphrodite caught up to us a few minutes into the chase; I set Hades down on the forest floor and fought through the pain, the pull of wounds tearing back open.

She's good with that whip; got me a few times and threw off my balance when I tried to strike at her. Combined with the pain and weakness in my limbs I was nearly done for when I got the blade in her, hooked the scythe into her shoulder and _pulled_. I don't know why she's not dead yet, oceans of red down her pretty frame.

"Leave me," Hades says again. "I'll distract her and you can go– we're almost to the mountain. You can hide there."

"_No_," I tell him, reaching for his hand. "You didn't leave me." Because Aphrodite gave him the chance; untied his ropes and stood him tall and told him to go once his wounds were all burned closed. "A sponsor may take pity and give you medicine," she leered. "What'll it be, lover boy?" But he stayed by my side not because he couldn't get away– he had enough life he could– but because he wanted to; he wanted to stay with me. And I want to stay with him. "I want to stay with you," I say as much.

"Kore…" he pleads, but I shake my head, take a deep breath and grunt as I struggle to my feet, drop my pack at his side and unstring a length of chain on the scythe.

"We're not gonna die here, Hades," I tell him. "Not at her hands."

When Aphrodite finds us, it's with a snarl. She cracks the whip and something inside of me cringes in fear, wants to tuck tail and run. I don't; I stay where I am. There's blood dripping in my eyes, copper on my tongue and a shake to my limbs that's unbearable. When she lunges for me, I'm too helpless to stay upwards.

We fall to the ground in tangled girl, weapons gone and hair clashing with honey and blood. I snarl at her, get my claws into her arms and scratch. "You _bitch_! I will kill you for that!" she screeches, reaches out to slap me across the mouth.

I spit my blood at her, right hook elbows into her ribs. She tries to get her hands around my neck, the way I did to Pan. And I can't die like this; can't die with no air to my lungs like I did to the little boy from my republic, the starving little boy no older than twelve. The desperation in me is so fierce that I can stand the press of her hands tighter into my throat as I surge forwards, sink my teeth into the wound at her shoulder.

Aphrodite yowls, pulls back and her flesh rips off in my teeth. I spit it out, bloody hunks and adrenaline blocking the bile threatening to rise in my throat. I scramble to get up, to finish this once and for all, but the sickening _crack_ from the direction Aphrodite falls has the fear in me anew; I pause and glance over, hands shaking.

Hades kneels next to Aphrodite's golden corpse, dropping the bloody rock in his hands. He's panting, falls forwards to brace his frame on his hands and breathes, just breathes. Aphrodite's lifeless teal eyes are staring at me now, brains spattered into her pale blonde hair from the hole in her skull. Even in death she is the epitome of beauty; her sponsors must be weeping to have lost such a jewel.

And this time when the bile rises I'm helpless to it, vomit acid and blood onto the forest floor. I feel the hands on me before I can look at him, Hades giving soft pats as I feel like I am coughing up my lung when my stomach has nothing left to heave.

"It's okay," he says.

"No," I answer him, a hysteric sob bubbling in my chest. "No, it's not. None of this is. I want to go _home_."

"I do to," he says, and we when stand _he_ is the one to brace _me_ this time.

I gather my pack and my scythe as we hobble away from the scene, a trumpet blaring in the distance the same it did with Pan. But there are no faces in the sky tonight; it's too late in the evening for the Capital's emblem to blaze; it may wake the rest of the tributes up, if the trumpets haven't already. And the viewers have their blood now; Hades and I have brought gore and fight to the screen for nearly hours, whether it's our own or Pan and Aphrodite's, the Game has been played enough for now.

We walk with no destination, the trees thinning to shrubs as we near the mountain, towering golden in the sky. "It looks like Olympus," Hades says, the building in which President Kronus sits, watching us now.

"It does," I agree, pressing the side of my head into his shoulder, breathing in coal dust and rot.

A few more steps, just a few more before the ground give beneath us. I would scream but I don't have the energy left in me, let my body fall down the sudden slope. Hades goes with me, doesn't let go until we lie panting in the dark. It feels like my left wrist is broken; I try to move it with no luck.

"Are you okay?" Hades asks on an agonized groan.

There is black dotting my vision, Hypnos threatening to pull me into the realm of sleep. "Yes," I tell him, the lie coming easily.

"Okay," he says, and I know he's just as dazed as I am.

We sleep like the dead, all night my arms stretched across him, rivers of blood as I pray _please keep him safe, please keep him safe._

* * *

**A/N:** I know this chapter is extremely short and vague, but I wanted to keep this stopping point (nothing like a Richard Siken allusion to wrap a chapter up). And keep in mind with the swaying verse of the chapter, Kore's pretty much on the brink of passing out the entire time and has lost a lot of blood, so her mind isn't working quite right.

Quick thank you for all of your support, guys; you rock. Any critiques are seriously appreciated!


	19. Promises You Can't Keep

"Shit."

I bend to pick up the shell of tree bark I've just dropped, thankful none of the sap inside has spilled out. The pack I'm carrying is full of herbs I don't have to worry about spilling because of the wonderful invention called zippers. I have my canteen slung over my shoulders sloshing with fresh spring water, and there's iodine waiting next to a sleeping Hades back in the cave, as well as flint to make fire that I took from the cornucopia during the Pantheon and slipped in my pack. I have everything I need, it seems, except for _real_ medicine.

For about the hundredth time since I woke up this afternoon, I think about climbing the face of the mountain and calling out to the sky for my sponsors to take pity and send me what I need. It's not as if I have to worry that they've spent their money on Pan anymore.

The thought makes me wince, wounds on my back pulling with split blood. I grit my teeth and weave back through the forest, searching with my feet for the trap door that leads down into the cave I left Hades sleeping in.

When I woke up after we fell last night, I couldn't tell what time it was. The place we were in was pitch black and all of my senses were strained. The wounds I'd sustained from Aphrodite and Pan had long dried closed, but they burned with the threat of infection. Not to mention my broken left wrist throbbed. I was hot all over, not just from setting fever but because I was pressed so close to Hades' sleeping body that I was soaking up his heat too.

The fever he had was enough to let me know he wasn't dead, and I thanked the stars for it, pressing my hand to his forehead and finding him able of speech when I tried to shake him awake. "Kore?" he whispered, and I smiled at him in the darkness even though neither one of us could see it. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," I told him, looking around for any sign of light. "When we fell last night, I was too out of it to check."

"Me too," he said, smacked his lips together and groaned. "Do we still have any water?"

"Yeah," I told him, trying not to cry out as I moved off of my pack, happy I'd had enough sense to grab it and my scythe last night before we walked away from Aphrodite's bloody, beautiful corpse. "I think I almost impaled myself," I said aloud to Hades, finding my scythe just off to the side of the pack.

He tried to laugh but all that came out was a choked groan. "My side split back open," he said.

"I need to get you medicine," I told him, lifting his head into my lap, though not without trouble– I accidentally poked him in the eye once, cursing the darkness around us all the while.

"You need it too," he said. "Your back looked like hell last night, Kore."

"I'll be fine," I lied, tipping the canteen towards his mouth for him to drink.

"You better be," he said around swigs of water.

We didn't speak much after that, Hades dozing to sleep. I used the rest of the water and mixed it with a few drops of iodine before dousing his wound in it, startling him back awake from the sting. I hadn't known that would happen and apologized profusely as he writhed in pain, clutching at my right wrist to the point I thought he would break this one and I'd be left without either to use.

Finally Hades had passed out again, and I'd left him lying there with the supplies in my pack for safe keeping, praying he stayed alive until I came back with help.

Some crawling in the dark had taken me up the slope we'd fallen down the night before, rocks and dirt above my head until I'd shoved hard enough and the earth had simply given way, taking my pack and scythe with me into the sun.

Apparently the Gamesmakers built a trapdoor into the side of the mountain and we'd fallen into the night before, stuck in a cavern that ran beneath the golden structure with no natural light. I realized upon just a moment in aboveground that it was afternoon, and the cavern was much, much cooler than the arena above.

What felt like a half-an-hour of scouring and sweating led me to a twisting spring falling down the mountainside, which I guessed was the start of the spring that I spent the first half of the Games camping by. Weary of monstrous fish women, I waded in cautiously, washed the wounds on my skin with broken sobs of pain even though the cold water felt inexplicably good on the unmarred patches of my heated skin.

When I looked closer, I found my wounds weren't as deep as I had worried about. I realized they only hurt so much because they're on top of the flesh, pulling nerves with every flex that I make. There is however one long slice down my right shoulder I have to worry about with infection, and the fever I thought was from such a thing earlier was just thanks to swelling and nothing more.

Once I waded out of the spring, I found, to my astonishing luck, a grove of witch hazel. I wasted no time in taking off my boots and ripping the ends of my leggings off, splinting my broken wrist with the herb. I smashed some up and put it on my wounds for good measure, stuffing handfuls of the herb into my pack afterwards to take back to Hades.

A little more searching landed me generous helpings of aloe leaves, yarrow flowers, sage, and a maple tree to drain sap from. I also grabbed tinder and broken branches to make a fire with to light the cavern. It was like the surrounding area had sprouted up just for my benefit, and I whispered a small, "Thank you," to anyone listening for it.

Which lands me where I am now, carrying my findings back to the cavern to help Hades as best I can. After everything he did for me yesterday, I'm not just going to leave him to die, no matter how easy it would be now that the witch hazel has me feeling as if my injuries are just a scratch. Even if I killed Pan last night, I won't let that turn me into a murderer. That's exactly what the people who designed these Games want, and I won't give into their will any more than I already have.

I shuffle around where I think the entrance to the cavern is for a good ten minutes before I feel the ground give in, stumble back so I don't spill the sap in my makeshift bowl everywhere, instead fumble my way down the slope with slow movement. The trapdoor closes behind me with no sound, darkness invading my senses. It's even more disorientating now that I've been in the sun for over an hour and I cannot see anything, praying to the Gods that I don't fall and break something else.

Finally the ground begins to level out at my feet. "Hades?" I whisper into the darkness, wondering if he's awake.

"Over here," he calls back, voice coming from just a few feet away.

I clear the distance until to toe of my boot catches on something.

"Ow," he croaks. "That was my shin."

"Sorry," I say, blushing though I know he can't see it in the dark.

I kneel down next to him and set my makeshift bowl at his side, careful not to spill any sap before handing him the canteen. Hades drinks eagerly, sighing when he's finished and handing the canteen back.

"You look better," he says after a moment.

"How can you tell?" I ask him.

"My eyes have adjusted to the darkness," he explains, and I nod in acceptance of his answer as I take the wood and tinder from my pack, moving a few feet away from him to dig a hole in the floor, glad it's made of dirt and not rock like the rest of the cavern. "What's in here?" Hades asks as I'm doing so, poking at my pack with curiosity– I can tell by the rustle of fabric under his fingers' insistence.

I arrange the tinder in a careful bundle below the wood, feel around in the darkness for the flint I sat beside him and strike it with my knife as I answer, "Medicine."

"It feels like leaves," he says.

"Exactly," I smile, the flint sparking and tinder catching with a flare. I blow on it to get the flames to take, light rising up as the fire catches the wood and comes to life. I lean back from it and risk a glance at Hades, finding him watching me with curious eyes.

"Okay," he says after a moment. "I take my earlier statement back. You look like shit."

"Mashed witch hazel isn't exactly couture, Hades," I tell him, touching at the slimy plant on my skin with chagrin. "Besides, look who's talking."

He glances down at himself in question, grimacing at the crusting wound in his right side. The burned flesh around it where Aphrodite tried to burn it closed last night has bubbled into blisters, skin in webs of honey-comb pattern where it has split open again after all of our running and wrestling and falling last night. The flesh around the wound bears no better itself, red and swollen. When I look closer I can see a bit of pus leaking out, infection setting in on the top of the wound.

"Shit," I say, not having realized it was so bad before I left earlier.

"I wouldn't blame you if you puked again," Hades says, paling as he inspects the wound with an unhopeful stare.

"I'm not going to puke," I promise him, though it is tempting even if all I have to expel is spring water and stomach acid. "I'm just worried about blood poisoning. Do you still have a fever?"

"A bit," he admits, propping up on his elbows and grimacing as a yellowish liquid leaks from his wound. "Okay, that's just fucking gross."

Nose wrinkling, I nod. "I can't believe what Aphrodite did," I tell him with honesty, because I have seen brutality in these Games before, but never like _this_. Usually tributes kill each other quick; drawing out the suffering isn't good on anyone because those who are inflicting the torture have other tributes they should be killing.

Apparently none of that mattered to Aphrodite though.

"I didn't even know I'd killed her ally," Hades says, shaking his head. "When the chaos at the Pantheon broke out orig'nally, I thought I could get Hestia away from all of those animals by getting her on the cornucopia or somethin'. The Demigods were still there trying to fight some of the animals off, and one of them– the boy who must've been Aphrodite's republic mate– just came after me. So I…killed him. It wasn't long after that before the bull-monsters started chasing us and I lost track of Hestia."

"Had you killed anyone in the Games before Poseidon?" I find myself asking softly at the look of guilt in his expression.

"Yeah," he says, voice wavering. "The boy from Eptá. We ran into him on the fourth day in here, and it led to a fight…"

"And you won," I say, causing Hades to nod grimly. "Why didn't you say so at the Pantheon? Everyone else said if they'd killed someone." It was part of the '_Tell a Little about Yourself_' segment Dionysus had insisted on after the no-kill law had been enacted.

"Why gloat about it?" Hades asks. "There's nothing worth gloating about."

I look at him softly for the answer, don't hesitate to lean forwards and press my lips to his this time. It only lasts a moment, resounding fear I'll be pulled away from him like the day before. When I pull back, I see that his eyes are closed; they stay like that for a little bit before blinking open in shock.

Hades clears his throat, hands flexing against the dirt floor of the cavern where he still has himself propped up by the elbows. "What was that for?" he asks.

"I like you more than I should," I say, his own words copied. "They're not going to cut off my wings, Hades, and I won't let them cut off yours either."

I turn away from him then, stoke the fire once more and take out the herbs I need to treat his wounds, getting to work, but not before I hear him whisper, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Kore."

* * *

Sometime later, when I have his wounds treated to the best of my knowledge and we're sitting there eating the dried fruit I've had stored in my pack for a while, I look over to Hades to see the red in his skin around the wound has reduced, if only a little.

When I initially put the yarrow on his wound, it had the infection running out in streams. It was probably the grossest thing either one of us have seen before– even when the infection had set into Plutus' wounds after he'd been whipped, it hadn't looked like that coming back out. Bits of flayed skin fell off of Hades' wound too, as well as infected blood that smelled so sickly I had to plug my nose to continue.

But finally, the blood ran a clean red before stopping all together. I spread aloe over the rest of the wound, pressing witch hazel against the swollen flesh. After a few hours of repeating the cycle I cleaned the wound with fresh iodine water, spreading hot sap over the direct gash to keep anymore infection from setting in.

Hades helped me with the wound on my back after that, cleaning and sealing it for me. What was unexpected was the way he kissed my neck afterwards, lingering and soft. When I asked him what it was for he didn't tell me, just laid back down and smiled.

"Your side looks better," I tell Hades then, licking the residue of dried apricot off of my fingers.

"Thanks to you," Hades says with a hum. "Who'd have known you were such a whiz in healing?"

"I told you my mother has a garden," I say to him. "She grows every herb she can in it, and we have a book that says what they're used for. I used to read it during school when they were teaching history."

"Not much one for learning about the Capital bullshit?" he asks.

And at the words, a fear I haven't felt since yesterday begins to set in. It's then I remember infection isn't our only concern right now– there have to be cameras down here in this cavern with us, otherwise the Gamesmakers wouldn't have built it. The Capital is watching from beyond somewhere, and so is Prometheus, who already must be so disappointed in me for everything I've done since teaming up with Hades.

Script takes root in my bones, words mirroring what I have been taught to say. "Oh, no, it isn't that. It's just that I was a bit of a space-case in school. I always dreamed of adventures."

"What kind of adventures?" Hades asks, brows raised.

I watch the smoke of the fire curl down into the cavern behind us– when I had a break from cleaning Hades' wounds I explored a bit and found this place goes back for what looks like miles, so we don't have to worry about smoke asphyxiation anytime soon, luckily. "All kinds," I tell him, trying to make him see that I am lying for a purpose. Then again, it isn't a _complete_ lie; I often dreamed of other lives in school, in the fields even, like those of the epic heroes in oral myths told around the bonfires we have in Énteka every year to celebrate the end of the harvest. "Mainly seeing the ocean," I say.

"Why the ocean?" Hades asks, eyes wide and fascinated as he looks at me.

"I don't know," I tell him, done with the lying and apt to honesty. "I guess I just like the idea of it– some say it's infinite to the east, that it goes on and on with no end. I always wondered that if I just took a boat and sailed away, I'd ever make it back? There's this old story we have back home about this hero named Odysseus who went away to war, and it took him years and years to make it across the ocean and back home."

"Why did it take him so long?" Hades asks.

"He angered the Gods," I say, messing with my hands and shrugging. "He did some stupid things, and so they challenged him. At one point, he got trapped in the cave of a giant who tried to eat all of him and his men…"

"A giant?" Hades asks.

"Yes," I tell him, waving my hands dramatically over my head as for emphasis as I reiterate, "A giant. With just one eye. The giant trapped Odysseus and some of his men in his cave after they took refuge there, eating six of Odysseus' men in the process. But while he was away one day, the men took the giant's club and turned it into a spear that they hid when the giant came back. That night Odysseus got the giant drunk on wine he'd gotten from the Gods, and when the giant asked Odysseus' name, Odysseus told him 'no one'–"

"Why did he say his name was 'no one'?" Hades asks, brows drawing together. "

"Let me finish!" I tell him with a teasing glare; Hades shuts his mouth with a clack of teeth and nods. "As I was saying: the giant now thinks Odysseus' name is no one, okay, and so he falls asleep since he is drunk, and Odysseus and his men stab him in the eye with the spear they had earlier made.

"The giant wakes up screaming and unblocks the entrance to his cave, screaming out to his giant brothers beyond that he has been stabbed and blinded. When the brothers ask who he has been blinded by, he then says '_No one! No one blinded me!_' making his brothers think that there isn't anyone in the cave with the giant and allowing Odysseus and his men to escape," I finish, knowing if the Capital has chosen to air these words, that Despoina is sitting eagerly in front of the television screen back home listening; it always was her favorite story.

"That's actually kinda brilliant," Hades says, tapping his fingers to his chin. "But what happened after? How did Odysseus get back home?"

"It wasn't easy," I say, watching Hades' eyes light up at the prospect of the story continuing; it makes me that much more eager to tell it. "The Gods challenged him a lot. There were sea monsters and cursed cattle and there was even a witch named Circe who tried to seduce Odysseus into staying with her and turned his men to pigs, but Odysseus refused, because he had a beloved wife and son he wanted to go home to. All of his men eventually died on the journey even after Odysseus tricked Circe into turning them back into humans. But, somehow, in the end, Odysseus made it back home again."

"What happened when he came home?" Hades asks; in the slanted light of the fire he looks so much like an excited child, hearing this story for the first time with innocent wonder.

I smile as I continue. "His wife was waiting for him, but since she had been waiting so long, there were many suitors trying to force her hand in marriage. Only Odysseus' son believed that it was really his father who'd come home, and so when Penelope, his wife, announced there would be a tournament to decide which suitor she would choose, Odysseus won. He and his son killed all the other competitors for trying to force Penelope to remarry.

"And then, after all of this, Penelope was weary it was really her lost husband come home after so long. She told her maids to move her bed onto the porch so she and the man claiming to be her husband could talk comfortably, only Odysseus knew what she was saying was a test. You see, he'd had their bed built into a tree at the heart of the house that could not be moved," I say, drawing the picture of such tree in the dirt beneath me, weary of my broken wrist. "When he said as much, Penelope knew it was really him, and they lived happily together once more."

"You sure have interesting stories in Énteka," Hades says, laying back with his hands folded behind his head and staring at the ceiling dreamily.

"What stories do you hear in Dodéka?" I ask him curiously, taking a sip from my canteen and realizing it will have to be refilled soon at how empty it feels it has become.

Hades shrugs, crossing his feet at the ankles with a small sigh. "There's this one about a man named Oedipus, but it isn't so great."

"Why not?" I ask him.

"Well, it's kind of sad," Hades says, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

"I wanna hear it," I tell him anyways.

Hades chuckles, nodding his head. "I figured you would." Drawing in a deep breath, he begins with, "Oedipus' father was a king who had heard a prophecy his son would kill him and couple his own mother. Fearing it to come true, the king ordered Oedipus to be killed. The babe was left on the side of a mountain to die after havin' a spike driven through his ankles, but he didn't die. Instead he was adopted by a peasant and grew up not knowing he was a prince. Until one night this drunk guy at a feast told Oedipus he didn't know who his real father was.

"And Oedipus couldn't leave the idea alone afterwards and went to this oracle to ask who his real parents were, but instead of telling him the oracle told him simply said Oedipus would kill his father and couple with his mother. Not waintin' this to happen, Oedipus did not go home to his adoptive parents which he still thought were his real parents, but rather to the nearby kingdom– his real father's kingdom. On the way, Oedipus ran into a cart goin' the opposite way. The driver struck him to move, and, enraged, Oedipus killed him and the man he was transporting– the King, Oedipus' real father, unwittingly fulfilling half the prophecy."

"Oh," I say, and Hades chuckles.

"Yeah," he drawls, smiling at me with warmth; I feel my cheeks heat. "But, see, Oedipus kept going to the kingdom afterwards. It was said there was a monster there terrorizing the kingdom with the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle and the head of a woman. For anyone to get into the kingdom, they had to answer the creature's riddle correctly otherwise she would devour them–"

I interrupt Hades then, asking eagerly, "What was the riddle?"

He purses his lips at the question, scar more prominent in the shadows of the cavern. "It was…hmm– oh, _yeah_. 'What has four legs, then two legs, then three?"

"What?" I ask him.

Hades grins, shakes his head a little. "Man," he answers. "First they crawl, then they walk, then use a cane when old. Oedipus knew the answer unlike the rest, and the creature went mad when her riddle had been broken, throwing herself from a cliff and dying. This freed the kingdom of her terrors, and the people were so grateful that they made Oedipus king, as apparently the last one– Oedipus' real father– had died mysteriously on the road, not knowing it was Oedipus who'd killed him. They suggested he marry the queen and–"

"He fulfilled the prophecy!" I say, gasping.

"He did," Hades nods. "I think the worst thing though is that Oedipus didn't known his wife was also his ma, and they had a bunch of kids before finding out. The queen could not take the news that she had married her own son who had killed her last husband and his own father, and committed suicide. Supposedly Oedipus ended up gouging out his own eyes and becoming a wanderer, leaving his kingdom behind."

"That's a bit of an awful story," I tell Hades softly, blinking in the darkness.

Hades sighs, reaching out to grab my hand in a move I don't expect, warmth spreading through my veins at his touch. "Not all things have a happy ending, Kore," he says softly, and I know that he means the words as an answer to more than just the story.

And I've been so lost in the fantasy world we've created here together with our wise tales I again forgot where we are, forgot that waiting on the surface are tributes who want to kill us, a world outside of this arena who want to kill us. Hades and I can't stay down here together forever after all, and by the end of these Games at least one of us will be dead.

A tragedy all our own.


	20. A Hawk in Search

The next day I prepare to go out again to get us food and water, wood for the fire and new herbs and sap to dress Hades' wound.

It doesn't look as bad as it did yesterday, a bit of runoff infection and the blistering has gone down, but only just. I am still weary of it; if the infection keeps coming back and we have to drain it anymore then his flesh won't scab over. And we can't stay in this cavern forever; I fear the Gamesmakers interfering and chasing us out with Gods' know what, or another tribute finding where we are and attacking. With his wound still so open, Hades can't walk or fight without making it any worse, especially after the trip we made in running from Aphrodite the other night. I have to get him fixed, but I don't know how.

"I still can't believe you're staying with me," he says, guessing at my thoughts as I sling the empty pack over my shoulder along with my scythe, preparing to depart. My own injuries have scabbed by now, the swelling in my wrist minimal and the bone splinted. "You could just go and let the animals finish me off."

"What animals?" I ask him, suddenly on alert. "Is there something down here with us?"

He laughs at my panic, shaking his head as he rests back against the mound of dirt he gathered up last night as a makeshift pillow. "No, no. It was just a suggestion."

"I'm not gonna leave you, Hades," I say anyways, heart aching at the prospect.

"Why?" he asks, and he seems so astounded, so unbelieving of my loyalty that I lean in and kiss him. Unlike the day before though, I let my lips linger against his, enough he gets the chance to tangle a hand in my hair, kissing me right back with an audible sigh after I pull away, eyes shining in the firelight.

"Because you didn't leave me," I tell him, just as I told him the other night. "Don't think I won't forget it."

I kiss him one last time before I leave, a quick peck of lips.

"I take it back!" he calls after me as I start heading up the slope that leads out of the cavern.

"Take what back?" I ask.

"What I said about you bein' real," he calls. "You're too good to be real. You must be a dream."

"Well, I say otherwise and I'm always right so," I laugh, reach for the trapdoor's opening and walk into the light.

* * *

I wonder to the stream, weary of the wounds on my back in the thickets of the trees since I have no covering. Normally I would be self-conscious that all I have is my breast bindings to cover the top half of myself, but there are bigger worries on my mind than my half-nakedness. Hades doesn't seem to mind that he doesn't have a shirt anymore, so I won't either.

"Though it _would _be helpful so I wouldn't get stabbed so freaking much," I grumble aloud, pushing a particularly prickly branch aside as I step onto the stream's bank.

Slowly, I wade into the water again and wash the dirt and sweat off of me that I accumulated from the cavern, drink my weight in water and refill the canteen. After my skin no longer burns from dirt and heat, I go on the search of food. If it comes down to it I'll eat the cattails at the stream's edge– my stomach is grumbling so much it physically hurts and I know Hades must not be faring much better, especially when his body is using everything it has to stave the infection off.

We both need fuel, and I become very disappointed when indeed all I can bring back for us is the cattails.

Choosing not to let it deter me too much, I head back to where I remember the witch hazel grove being, picking up wood for the cavern fire on the way. Only, when I get to the grove, there is no witch hazel. There are none of the other herbs I need either, and just the maple tree for use.

"No," I whisper, drop to my knees frantically and look around, pulling at the ground helplessly. There is _nothing_ to use, just tall grass swaying in the breeze. "No, no nononono, _no_."

A sob rips from my chest before I can stop it, hands battering against the ground. "Fuck," I say. "Fucking hell!"

My eyes water and my body threatens to go into hysterics. Because _of course_ they would do this to me– of course they would give me hope and rip its roots out the moment it starts to blossom. I thought, if nothing else, I could help Hades not be in pain for the time being, that I could _fix him_. Somehow, someway, I could make him better.

When the trample and tear of weeds sounds from my right, I don't bother to stand, go on the offensive. _What's even the point?_ I think hopelessly. If I live, that doesn't mean anything. Hades is going to die, Hestia, Artemis and Apollo are lost, and I killed a boy with my bare hands. I'm not going to make it home from these Games, and even if I did I'd be looked at as a monster. I'd be the Capital's little whore to do with as they please and I couldn't say anything about it if I wanted to live, to keep my family safe.

Prometheus said they would own me if I win, but they own me even if I lose.

We're all just pawns in the Capital's hands, little things of flesh and bone that they can do with as they please to keep their precious order. Even if the wise tales say there was Chaos in the beginning, that _that _is the resolute, the Capital will have none of it. Kronus will sit on his throne like a false deity and bend the world to his will.

What's the point of living if all I have to look forwards to is _that_?

"Feeling sorry for yourself won't get you anywhere," says a gruff voice then, steps measured and calm.

I look up, find the lame boy from Pénte– Hephaestus, Hebe had said his name is– looking at me cautiously, as if I am a mouse and he is the hawk. Yet not a hawk on hunt, but rather a hawk in search. In search of what exactly, I don't know. He simply takes another careful step towards me, afraid that I'll finally gain some whit and be spooked off.

"What do you want?" I ask him instead, stay kneeling in the swaying grass, sweat rolling down my skin in rivers from the heat and my temper tantrum.

"Nothing," Hephaestus says, bronze eyes twinkling. He's a stalky kind of figure, strong limbs despite his limp and wild, fiery hair that shines in the afternoon light. He uses a spear as a walking stick. "I was just wondering if I may have a moment of your time?"

"Where else am I going to go?" I ask, waving my hands to the empty space around us.

"Point taken," he says, squinting as he looks at me a little closer. "You're not as pretty as they made you out to be."

"Thanks," I say to him dryly, sitting back and pulling my knees to my chest. "Is that all you had to say?"

Hephaestus shakes his head, bends down ungracefully to sit by me a few feet away. "I was going to say that your nickname doesn't suit you."

"What?" I ask him, brows drawing together at the strange statement.

"You aren't really a maiden," he says, mouth evening into a flat line. "Maidens are frivolous little things, and you're not that."

"Then what am I?" I ask him sardonically. "In case you haven't noticed, the rest of Elláda seems to disagree with you."

"They're idiots," he says blatantly, and I don't know whether to laugh because it reminds me of Hades, or to run now because this is some kind of trick. Now that my head has began to wind down a bit, I can feel the basic instinct to survive taking root once more; badmouthing the Capital won't follow along with it.

In the end I pick to stay where I am, wanting to hear Hephaestus out another moment. "You're too dark to be a maiden, too much of a survivor. Tell me, what was your father's surname?" he asks, eyes crinkling at the corners when he looks at me expectantly.

"Why do you want to know?" I ask him suspiciously, hand twitching that is connected to the arm my scythe is looped around.

"Humor me," Hephaestus smiles, and in that moment he looks far older than a teenager, like he extends the limits of time.

"Proserpina," I say, tongue getting ahead of my mouth.

"So your name should not be Kore," he says with a smile.

"What?" I ask him, brows drawing together. "What does that have to do–"

"It should be _Persephone_," he interrupts me, and I don't have the breath to continue my question after that. "She who brings death. A maiden you certainly are not, but a woman who enacts curses upon men– hmm, that's more fitting."

All I can do is blink at him, watch as he stands with a grunt and his lame leg tries to buckle. He smiles down at me once steady, one front tooth missing and the rest character crooked. "Don't forget about the change, Persephone," he says, turns on his heel and begins to limp away, as calm as when he came.

I open my mouth to call after him, find out what he means by the statement, but he turns as if he knows, eyes twinkling. "I almost forgot," he says, reaches into the satchel at his side and pulls out a metal tin sealed tight, the perfect thing to distract me. "For your friend," he says, tossing it my way.

I catch the object with a startled squeak, so intrigued by it that immediately I twist the cap open, look inside and sniff. It smells of the medicine I remember Artemis using on Apollo and me, the one that healed our wounds within seconds of being administered. My eyes go wide, chest ceasing with pure _hope_ as I realize what it means.

When I look up, Hephaestus has already gone, disappeared into the forest like a ghost. "Thank you," I say.

What it earns is a chuckle on the afternoon breeze, a silent '_You're welcome_' as I close the tin and stash it in my pack, rushing in steps to get back to Hades.

* * *

It is as I near the trapdoor again that I hear it, the metallic _ping_ I remember the last parachute making as it dropped before me.

This one falls at my feet, larger than the last. I kneel down to it with wonder, open the latch and watch as two tunics spill out. Wrapped inside of them are two loaves of bread, two apples and cured meat as well as a new vial of iodine.

"Oh so _now_ you're trying to butter me up," I mutter, glaring up at the sky.

It's only when I go to tuck the container into my pack do I see that the parachute is not the plain white it should be, but that there are symbols marked on it in ink. Symbols Prometheus knows only I would recognize– the writing we use in the fields in Eleusinian to mark directions, a forbidden dialect you are not to supposed to write nor speak any longer since Dekatría burned to the ground, taking the old language with them.

It isn't uncommon for sponsors to drop hints in the Games, so I am not overly weary about reading the message in the open, ducking under a nearby tree for shade from the heat as I twist the parachute until the symbols face up correctly.

'_Maiden is out._' the first part of the message reads, or that is what I think it reads. I recheck my translation five times before reading the second part. '_Love that boy if you want to live._' The last few words are sketchy in my head, unpracticed. I haven't written this language myself since my father died, haven't read it since the last harvest season on the posts of the fields, telling me where the guards were thinnest and the work not too hot.

'_Love that boy if you want to live._' Does he mean Hades?

With a nervous bite of the lip, I shove the parachute into my pack and start walking towards the cavern entrance again, wondering if I'm right. Because if the maiden bit really is out– I pull up short when my encounter with Hephaestus slams to the forefront. "_You aren't really a maiden._" Did he _know_? Did he know what was happening, that things were changing and that's why he said that?

But _how_?

And how did he know about Hades, that I needed the medicine he gave me to fix Hades' wounds? '_Persephone_,' Hephaestus called me. '_She who brings death; who enacts curses upon men._' But then to give me something to save a life?

But he also said, "_Don't forget about the change, Persephone._" And I remember that day on the back of the train when we were headed to the Capital, Prometheus saying that things need to _change_ and when I asked why he simply smiled. When I brought it up again with him in front of Atlas before the parade he told me not to talk about it in the open. "_Does she know?_" Atlas had asked while I was walking away. "_Only about her family,_" Prometheus had answered him. But if my family is just the first part, then what is the second?

What does any of this mean?

I clench my hands into fists, shake my head and close my eyes, taking a deep breath. When I open them again I walk, find the entrance to the cavern and glance around to make sure no other stray tributes come wondering along before stepping into the darkness.

* * *

I find Hades sitting up by the fire when I come in, his color still pale and his wound having improved none.

Still wrapped in suspicion I can't bring myself to thank Hephaestus again even unsaid, instead setting my pack down next to Hades and pulling out the wood I collected to stoke the waning fire before us.

"Did you get anything to eat?" he asks.

I nod, still fogged from what has just happened.

"What is it?" he asks, poking around in the pack and at his intake of breath, I know he's found the parachute container and tin of medicine. "Kore…?"

_I can't tell him,_ I realize with a sudden start. Even if I trust Hades, that note wasn't meant for him, and I know it will turn him suspicious if he finds out Hephaestus and I conversed so easily. And I don't want that; I don't want that because I know that I am going to listen to Prometheus, because the last time I didn't it nearly got me killed. I am going to listen and I am going to 'love' Hades, because it was bound to happen anyways, but now there is extra incentive.

Even underneath my feelings for Hades, I am still a human being and I have instinct for survival. Now that there is hope, there is need to know what is happening, what this _change_ is, I don't want to die. Not yet. And what is going to happen with Hades, I'm not going to be faking it, not necessarily. But I am going to be keeping us alive; at least I hope I am.

"I got a present," I say then, trying to shake myself from the fog of fitting puzzle pieces together and smiling at Hades with wide-gapped teeth. "They gave us food and clothes and medicine." The lie spills easily from my lips, a protective sort of taint.

"Holy shit," Hades says, eyes lighting up. "Will the– will the medicine work?"

"It will," I say breathily, leaning towards him and feeling my heart break a little as his breath speeds up when I say, "You're gonna be good as new. Ready for _anything_."

Hades stutters, lays back with a blush when I tell him to. I rip the edge of one of the new tunics we've been given to use as a rag, douse it in water and iodine and clean Hades' wound, watching infection clear away. He grits his teeth and digs his fingers into the dirt, but the moment I open the tin of medicine and begin dabbing it on the stab wound, he gives a soft sigh, entire frame relaxing.

A few moments later he abruptly reaches out for my hand with a yelp. "It _burns_," he says, squeezing my fingers tight between his own.

"But it's w_ork_in_g_," I tell him, watching in rapt fascination as his skin begins to fuse together just like that. Any traces of infection bubble off, even the blisters from where Aphrodite tried to burn the wound closed fade. In a matter of minutes the wound is healed over, a thin, puckered red line left where a gaping cut once was.

Hades' breath comes in rapid pants, slow movements as he sits up to look at the wound and blinks. "Shit," he breathes, and I turn to him with a shaky smile, relieved and joyed at the same time. "Kore, it _worked_!"

At his full confirmation I give a small cry, throw myself into his arms and squeeze tight. He holds me back just as desperately, face buried into the crown of my head. We stay like that for a bit before I pull back, find him staring at me in this strange way I've never seen before, like I am the sun and he is a boy that has been in the darkness far too long.

And this is _real_ and I will ruin it.

I want to tell him then, tell him about Hephaestus and the message and what we have to do because I want both of us to live– I want to love him not because I have to but because I _want_ to. But I know that won't work, that both of us _can't_ win these Games.

He said I was like a dream, but in that moment I want to tell him I am a nightmare.


	21. Goddess of Deceit

The next day we try to get Hades walking, full steps down and back the cavern's endless hall. It's like his wound was never even there until he tries to stretch out long, abrupt _pull_ in the muscles of his side and he winces.

"Not quite ready for that," he says, slumping against the cavern wall. We've neared our makeshift camp again; I wrap his arm around my shoulder just in case and help him sit down by the fire. "How's your back feel?" he asks after a moment, glancing up at me under bruised eyes. The cut on the side of his face he got from falling out of the tree the other day has healed into a scar now, medicine having taken effect just like it did to the lashes on my back, no burn, no sting, no problems.

"Good," I tell him, sitting with my legs folded into my lap. "It won't be so bad sleeping on the dirt and leaves now."

This morning I left him resting to go back up top and grab as much dried grass as I could, lots of leaves from large trees to use for bedding. I refilled the canteen too, bathed and grabbed more cattails to make up for the loaf of bread Hades and I ate last night. When I came back to the cavern I found him awake and doing push-ups held by his knees so there wasn't strain on his stomach where the wound was, breathing harsh as he collapsed at my cleared throat.

"I felt energized," he said with an embarrassed smile, then glanced at the way my pack was stuffed and the large leaves in my arms. "What's that for?"

"Bedding," I said, laying the pile down on the general area we've taken to sleeping to. "I figure it'll be a little more comfy than dirt."

Hades' eyes glowed softly in the light of the fire, an impish kind of look to him when he asked, "Can we…can I still hold you when we sleep?" Because that's what we've been doing every night that we've been down here– it's just a natural thing now, a sort of comfort. And it's nice because he gives me the liberty of not saying anything about the way I drool on his chest and I never mention the press of his erection against my hip when we wake in the mornings. It's a new kind of thing for both of us, but we're not about to give up any semblance of affection in a place like this.

"What do you think?" I asked him with a coy smile, and laughed when he blushed.

"Especially with shirts," Hades says now in relay to my statement, pulling at the rich fabric of his new tunic; I gave him the one I didn't rip to use as cloth; since he is much taller he needs all the fabric he can get for the shirt to make it to the top of his leggings.

"I kind of like you better without a shirt," I tell him, half serious half play.

Hades startles at the admission, head whipping in my direction with wide eyes. "Oh," he says after a moment, running a hand through his hair where it's thicker on top than the sides. "I could…I could take it off, if you want me to?"

"What do _you _want to do?" I ask him, glancing down at my broken wrist and manmade splint as heat rises to my cheeks now that the boldness of my words has hit me.

I haven't had much interaction with boys in this kind of way. Usually it's either Mom shooing them off or me telling them to get away for me because they want to copy my homework or cop a feel, or I'm punching them in the face because they won't take no for an answer. With Hades though, I don't think I'd want to tell him no in the first place. The only boy I was ever nice to sometimes was Charon, and we've never had romantic feelings for each other, not that I know of. He had a crush on Plutus, not me.

"I dunno," Hades admits, blushing as I look at him from beneath my lashes. It's in that moment I'm struck again by how easy it will be to 'love' him as Prometheus told me to do; none of this feels like acting for me– it just feels natural. "I don't– I haven't had much experience with this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" I ask him, biting my lip and stifling my urge to kiss him when he shifts uncomfortably, looking nervous and adorable.

"Girls," he says, choking on the word a bit.

"Do you like boys?" I ask him, making him sputter. I laugh a little, reaching out to take his hand in mine. "It's okay to like both, you know."

"I'm more apt towards girls," he says almost shyly, and for all the stoic and tough persona Hades puts on, I can see just how young and scared he is now. He told me he'll be nineteen in the fall, but that doesn't make him a man; I think in the end of things everyone is just a scared little kid looking for comfort. "I mean, I'm more apt towards _you_."

I smile at him softly, fingers beginning to tremble around his. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't have much experience with this either."

"You weren't lyin' during your interview when you said your mom doesn't let you out much, were you?" he asks.

"No," I say, soft shake of the head. "Especially after my brother died…she was always protective, but that just made her even more sheltering, I guess."

"What was your brother's name?" Hades asks softly, shifting so our knees are touching.

"Plutus," I tell him. "My little sister's name is Despoina, and my youngest brother's name is Arion… What about your sisters? What are their names?"

Hades wrinkles his nose. "Tisiphone, Megaira and Alekto."

"You really don't like them, do you?" I ask him.

"No," he says, then quickly corrects, "Don't get me wrong– they're my sisters and I love 'em, but they can be pretty awful most days. Then again, our household wasn't so good itself in the first place."

"Didn't your mom and dad keep them from being mean?" I ask, taking his other hand in mine when he flinches. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me."

"No, it's not that I don't wanna tell you, but, well…" He looks around the cavern, sharp faces of marble rock in the firelight. I understand after a moment what he means– he doesn't want to tell the _Capital_.

Slowly, I lean into him, lips at his ear so I can whisper, "If we were alone, I'd tell you everything."

"Me too," he says when I pull back a fraction, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. "I _really_ wish we were alone."

I giggle, untangling one of my hands from his to lift it to his cheek, stroking my thumb along the shell of his left ear. "You're certainly a teenage boy, alright."

"I usually don't like people touchin' me," he says after a moment, only when I go to pull my hand away he holds it in place. "Except with you. I like it when you touch me."

"When did you start liking me?" I ask him softly, because I feel like I need to know after he's gone and said something like that.

"Since the start," he says softly. "The moment I saw you get chosen on the recaps– the way you went up solemn-faced and shoulders high… I tried to tell myself I was just being dumb, 'cause it is dumb, liking my competition– but you just kept growing on me, and that first day, when you tried to save Hestia at the beginning of the Games I– well, I was sure glad to see you alive at the Pantheon. And when we ran into each other again, I didn't wanna stick together just to find that fox."

I blink at his admission, try to find a hint of game-play behind it and come up with none. Either he's a damn good liar, or what he's said is all true. Thinking of the way he stayed with me when Aphrodite gave him the chance to run, I know it's the latter. It makes my heart thump, a guilty ache in my chest because even though I know I have feelings for him, too, I also know that what we're saying right now is keeping us alive and safe, while he doesn't.

"What about you?" Hades asks, anxious that I haven't replied to him admitting he likes me yet. "When did you start linking me?"

"I don't know," I tell him honestly. "I've always liked you, I guess– since you caught me from falling before the parade and all. But I don't think I really started _liking_ you until the Pantheon. I can't even describe how relieved I was to see you were okay…"

"It's too bad it took us this long to figure it out," he mumbles, pressing his forehead to mine. "At least before the Games I could've kissed you without anyone watching."

I let his words sink in for a moment, glance at the fire burning to the side of us and smirk. "Well," I say, kicking dirt over the flames until they begin to extinguish, not caring if Prometheus is out there cursing me for it right now. After a few more handfuls of sand, the cavern settles into black and I feel like Hades and I have at least a bit of privacy. "This is better than nothing, right?"

I feel him lean in then, shaking as he smiles against my mouth. "Right," he laughs, and then he kisses me.

After a few hesitant moments I wrap my arms around his neck, not exactly sure how to move my mouth for this, thinking about the way Prometheus kissed me and trying to follow memory. Hades exhales shakily when I slip my tongue in his mouth, awkward clack of teeth as we shift. I try to tilt my head but that just makes it messy, too much spit so our lips slide against each other.

I break away then, frowning as Hades stutters an apology. "It's not your fault," I say. "I just don't know what you like…?"

"_I _don't know what I like, Kore," he says and I can hear the embarrassed humor in his voice. "What do _you_ like?"

I think about it a moment, the one real kiss I've had not providing much example. "I don't know," I say eventually. "I haven't– you're only the third boy I've ever kissed, and one of the others was Apollo so–"

"Apollo?!" Hades practically shouts. "When did you– isn't he– _I_–…?"

"It isn't like that," I laugh, reaching out to soothe the angry wrinkle I know will be between his eyes; it's one trait of his I've picked up on over the past few days. "He suggested we get together, but I told him no."

"Good," Hades says with apparent relief. "You're too nice for him anyhow."

"But not for you?" I ask jokingly.

"I don't know," Hades answers, lips pursing. "I guess I just can't believe I'm here right now. It still feels like a dream."

_I bet the audience is eating this up,_ a voice in the back of my head whispers as I say, "I didn't think this could happen despite everything else. We're supposed to be killing each other, and yet here we are…"

"I couldn't kill you," Hades says with a shake of the head. "I never could. When that boy attacked you while you were trying to save Hestia– I didn't even think about it when I stabbed him, Kore. I just wanted you to be safe."

"I thought you didn't trust me all the way then," I tell him, eyes threatening to water because he shouldn't even trust me _now_; I don't trust myself, so how can he?

"I did and I didn't. When you offered an…_alliance_," he says, and I know he means what I said about Hestia, about getting her through to the end but he's got to be discreet in front of the audience if he wants to protect her, "I wanted to believe you, but I mean, these Games, I just– I didn't know if I_ could _no matter how much I wanted to."

"We can still find Hestia," I tell him, feeling his heart beat faster under my palm at her name. "We can go out now," I begin frantically, thinking that maybe if we get to her now that neither of us is wounded, bring her back here and keep her safe, I can make the lying up to him. I can make up for killing Pan by saving her. "We can look for her; she's smart and will be hidden good but you know her better than most. We can–"

"Let's just stay here a little longer," Hades interrupts me, and even in the darkness I can see the plea in his eyes. "Just one more day."

And I know it then, know that he has no hope for us once we leave this dark place, that the moment we make it into the light everything between us will vanish. I've been worried about the same thing all along, if I'm honest with myself. Because eventually the audience will get bored of the star crossed lovers bit– they always want their share of blood.

The Gamesmakers won't let us stay down here forever; soon we'll be forced to fight and one of us will die. Every moment that Hades and I have together is fleeting; he'll slip from my grasp any moment and I realize with sharp clarity that I want every memory I can get out of him, no matter how ridiculous or life-endangering.

Without further thought I surge forwards, press my lips to his and don't try this time, just let the instinct of it take over. Hades is startled by the move only a moment before his hands rise up to tangle in my hair, the two of us falling back in our forest bed at my insistence. He doesn't know what to do then, and neither do I really.

But I think I know what I want– I know that even if by some miracle I win these Games and become a piece of Capital property, I don't want them taking anything real from me. And Hades _is_ real and what we have between us is real despite what Prometheus or anyone else might think. And I can give him something, something I have yet to give to anyone else and whether he lives or I live or neither of us do, it'll be something Hades and I can keep that the Capital will never be able to get their filthy hands on.

Even if they can _see_ it, they won't be able to have it, not really.

Eventually, our kissing becomes more frenzied, Hades' hands moving out of my hair as we lie on our sides facing each other, barely touching and yet so close I can feel the way he's shaking and I'm sure he can feel me shaking too. His hands settle at my waist first, then right above my backside, like he doesn't know if he can touch me there yet or not. I smile against his mouth, untangle my hands from where they're curled into his shirt and the side of his neck and move his own hands down, encouraging.

At my permission he groans, uses the newfound consent to grab the back of my thigh and drape my leg over his own, fitting into the crook. I gasp at the boldness of it, scrabble one arm over his shoulder to press my hand between his shoulders and bring him closer. We're writhing against each other by now, looking for a certain kind of friction we know the meaning of but haven't sought from another before.

When I break away for a breath he keeps his lips on my skin, a wet trail down my chin to my neck, sucking a warm mark there. I whimper, hips pushing into his more insistently at the action. I wish I could keep quieter, because while it would be hard to see us fully in the dark, it's ever so easy to hear and take a good estimate at what's going on.

"Shhh," Hades chuckles as if guessing my thoughts, hand on my thigh rising up beneath my tunic, tickling the skin of my belly. I nip at the side of his cheek in retaliation, gasping when his hand suddenly touches my breast. Instantly he stills. "Should we stop?"

"Hell no," I say, a bit louder than needed; I blush in the darkness, shake my head. "I mean no," I say a little softer.

Hades laughs again. "Fine by me," he says, leaning back in for another kiss.

It's when he tries with fumbling hands to take my top off that we hear the trumpet blare.

Both of us freeze in our frenzied movements, eyes meeting in the dark as we sit up, untangling limbs. "Well," he says after a moment, "at least we know they weren't watching _us_."

I nod, ears strained and want of him suddenly diminished; nothing like being reminded you're in a Game where innocent kids fight to the death for the sake of keeping false order to stifle one's libido. "Yeah," I say. "Who do you think that was for?"

"I don't know," Hades says. "There are what– nine of us left?"

"Eight now," I whisper. "Not many left to go for a big finale."

"When do you think it'll happen?"

"Not tomorrow," I say. "That death will tide the Gamesmakers over for now." _And they probably want to watch us have sex, if Prometheus' note is any indication._ I know Prometheus didn't just mean shared stares of longing when he said I need to love Hades to stay alive; that doesn't make good television.

I ignore the guilt at the thought of it, stand up and grab for Hades' hand. "Come on," I say, pulling him to his feet.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

"To see who that trumpet was for," I say as I grab my scythe; he keeps hold of my hand and leans us sideways to grab my knife, the only weapon he has left since Aphrodite cleaned him of his sword and pack; it was just dumb luck I left dropped mine concealed in the grass as she pulled me away like bait with that whip of hers. "It should almost be dark up there, and we need new firewood anyways."

He follows behind me hesitantly after that, stopping when we get to the slope leading back up into the arena. "Kore?" he asks.

"Yes?" I answer, turning to squint at him in the dark.

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course," I say to him, brows drawing together in confusion. "What is it?"

His fingers contract around mine, like he's afraid I'll slip away the moment he stops touching me. "No matter what happens by the end of this, believe me when I say that ev'rything that's happening down here, between us, it's real for me. Can you believe me about that?"

And I am thankful for the dark then, because I know he won't see the guilt written across my face when I say, "It's the same for me, Hades. I believe you."

He gives a relieved sigh, leans forwards and kisses me and I know that in that moment that even if I did win these Games, the only proper title I should receive is Kore: Goddess of Deceit.

* * *

When we make it up top, the sun is just setting.

I take Hades to the stream and help him wash off the dirt and grime that he's accumulated the past couple of days to pass time, on high alert with scythe at the hip in case the tribute whose mark lead to that trumpet blare comes traipsing along anytime soon.

After Hades is clean we sit on the bank and drink our fill of the water, nibbling on dandelions and laughing when I smear one down the side of his face, painting him in yellow. He retaliates by tackling me to the ground, digging fingers into my sides where I'm ticklish and begin a fit of laughter.

The only thing that stops him are the sudden lights in the fake sky, hologram of the dead. My breath catches in my throat at the face there, the name.

_Hephaestus._

It seems that I'm not the only one who found his interaction with me suspicious– he was well out of the way of trouble here on the mountain if Hades and I not being bothered thus far is any indication. But apparently the Capital didn't like Hephaestus' civilities with me, his saving grace and declaration I'm not the little Maiden they want but a thing of the dark. _Don't forget the change, Persephone._

And they sent death his way.

What if I'm next?

"We need to get back in the cavern," I say then, pulling Hades up to his feet frantically; he winces at the pull in his side.

"What do you mean?" he asks. "It's real nice out here and I haven't been aboveground in–"

"I saw Hephaestus yesterday," I blurt before I can stop myself, making Hades freeze up and look at me with shock. "He didn't– nothin' happened really, he just passed by and wasn't looking for trouble. But if he was out here, by us, the tribute that killed him is too."

I shift nervously, rapid breath because even if we get to the cavern, who's to say that'll stop the Gamesmakers? What if I get Hades killed too? Gods, what if it's my fault he dies– how can I live with that? _You won't for long if the Capital sees to it._

"Yeah, okay," Hades says then, a moment's beat after my confession. "Let's go."

The entire way back to the cavern, I can feel his suspicion, the loose grip of his hand. And I knew this secrecy between us wouldn't last long– I have to tell him everything, and hope it doesn't break us apart.

Or worse: get us killed.


	22. You Bleed, I Bleed

**A/N**: Hey guys, I just wanted to let you all know there's maybe only like, three or four chapters left after this one. I hope it doesn't seem like things are moving too fast, but with only so many contestants left and all the suspicion about Kore now with the whole Hephaestus ordeal, the Gamesmakers will be speeding things along, y'know? If you have any questions/criticisms, feel free to say!

Also, I'd like to take a moment to answer a quick question from a guest called Non, that asks if Hades has a bit of an accent, as hinted at from the way he talks?: _Yes_, he does have an accent, actually. I imagine him having a deep Virginian accent, as that is where I see his province in his republic being established in.

And thank you again to everyone for your continued support and comments, it means so much and I hope you enjoy the next chapter, though I must mention there are some sexual themes towards the end, so if you're uncomfortable with such thing, feel free to skip over.

* * *

"Can you pass me the canteen?"

"Sure."

The movement is stiff, passing of uneasy fingers and weary stares. I try to shine my eyes for him, try to say '_I'm sorry_' for the hundredth time. He takes the canteen without acknowledging me though, like he's done the past day and a half.

We haven't talked about Hephaestus yet, or the note Hades finally noticed written on the parachute. It's a subject we're apt to avoid, instead spending what could be our final hours simply surviving. Stoking the fire, eating, drinking water and healing until it's as if our injuries inflicted by Aphrodite and Pan were never there at all.

Everything in me wishes to tell Hades the whole story, from the moment my name was drawn up until this very second we sit together in guilty silence. I want to say I don't understand just as much as he doesn't, and that I didn't tell him because I was afraid, because I'm _still_ afraid. No matter how much I deny I want to win these Games and instead help Hestia to do it, that doesn't mean I don't want to live.

I don't understand why I want to make it out of here so desperately bad when there's nothing to leave to but a new Game to play, but the basic instinct in me wants to survive, wants to _fight_. I don't want to die in this place, made by Capital hands with the humans inside set up like frivolous little pieces to demonstrate false order.

I don't want to die before I see seventeen, like Plutus.

And yet I don't want Hades to hate me even more. I don't want to watch little Hestia killed the way I killed Pan, my bare fingers still thrumming with his diminishing pulse beneath them.

The Capital has me pegged in place, a butterfly under a microscope dying without sunlight, doused in an acid solution that drains me dry. Hades was right– they _have_ ripped off my wings. Because I question their rule but I never speak the words aloud. I want to change the world, but I don't want to die. And as long as I just sit here in the dark, don't say a word, no change will ever come.

* * *

We have to go to the surface after a while to get more water, something to eat because stale bread and eaten apples and cured meat can only get us so far.

I watch cautiously as Hades fills the canteen, on high alert in case the Capital sends something clamoring our way. My hand shakes where I hold the scythe at my side, broken wrist of the other arm burning under the weight of its splint in the afternoon sun.

The heat is even more intense now, sweat rolling down both mine and Hades' skin.

Cautiously, I dip my hair into the water of the stream just for cool relief, glance up through the droplets to find Hades looking at me, mouth bowed. "Your mentor and mine don't seem to like each other much," he says after a moment.

"Prometheus doesn't really _like_ anyone," I say.

Hades shakes his head. "They fight a lot," he says. "Ev'ry time the tributes were put together somewhere, I watched Hypnos and Prometheus argue."

I glance to the open space around us then, look for listening ears though it's useless because the Gamesmakers will be sure I can't see. "He was like that with Atlas– the twins' mentor," I say, and Hades' eyes go sharp. "Maybe they were arguing over whose tributes got more publicity?"

"Yeah," Hades says, but neither of us believes my guess. "Come on, we should get back under before someone finds us."

"Or some_thing_," I say, retrace our steps back towards the cavern and stop dead in my tracks when I hear the trumpet blare.

Hades is right next to me, hand gone to the belt at his waist. "Who was that for?" he asks, more to no one than me but I answer him anyways.

"Maybe it's a Demigod," I say, try to reassure him, yet I have a sinking feeling in my gut that I'm wrong, in one way or another.

* * *

When we find out later, sitting in the low limbs of a tree, licking cattail juice from our fingers, that it is Apollo that trumpet was for, I can't breathe until Hades gets me below the ground again.

* * *

"I'm sorry," are the first words out of Hades' mouth in the safety of the dark. "Kore, I'm so sorry."

"Me too," I whisper, though I'm not sorry for myself.

What is Artemis doing now, out there all alone without her twin, her flesh and blood? Is she mourning him like she must have mourned Hebe? Does she even want to live anymore? She'd said that Apollo always came back. No matter what, he came back. But this time he won't return to her.

He won't return ever– just like Plutus.

Just another loved one, another innocent life claimed under Capital rule.

And here I am, sitting still, letting it happen, not trying to stop it. All I've ever done is let it happen, a stand-by little girl too afraid to speak up.

"Hephaestus gave me the medicine," I blurt, watch the flitter of knowing surprise take over Hades' expression.

"I figured as much," he says, licks his lips and draws stray patterns in the dirt. One looks like an arrow and my heart cringes in my chest. "Why'd he do it?"

"I don't know," I say, because I honestly don't, not really. "He just…he said I wasn't what the Capital called me– a Maiden."

"And what did he mean by that?" Hades asks, appearance cross like he doesn't believe me all the way, not yet.

I sigh, feel stupid as I again say, "I don't know…" bite my lip and glance to the darkness around us. "He called me Persephone, he said I was–"

"The Dread Queen," Hades answers, his whole posture going soft, his eyes suddenly focused on mine.

"Yeah," I breathe out. "Does that have meaning to you?"

Hades nods, glances around the cave and turns guarded once more. I know then he'll tell me, but he won't tell me the truth. _Can't_ tell me the truth. He has to play the part the way we all have to, the stupid little pawn that the Capital has under their thumb. Because even if Hades has defied them already with his accusing words over the period of time I've spent with him here, it has never been something like this, not in the way he leans so close to me we share breath, pulses beating fast in sync.

"She's an ancient Goddess they talk 'bout in my republic," he says, and I can hear the secrets in his tone when he adds, "And _other __**old**__ republics_."

"What was she a Goddess of?" I ask, hands shaking.

"Spring," he says like a conspiracy plan. "But the King of Darkness, he stole her away. He was deadly, you see, and wanted a taste of _life_. But Persephone, she fought him the whole way. She wouldn't give in, not until she got what she wanted out of the deal."

"And what did she want?" I ask, try and decipher the meaning, the hidden message in it all.

"_Change_," Hades says, has the oxygen leaving my lungs. "When the Dark King took her, it turned the world to winter without her presence. Persephone would not watch the innocents die though. She made the Dark King promise her balance, and that's why there is winter and there is spring– the Dark King lets her live above half the year to bring the change the world needs to _live_. To bring the h_ar_ve_st_."

I swallow at his last words, reach through the space between us and softly touch his hand. He lets me, intertwines or fingers together and I realize that even though it's been just a day since I last touched him, I have missed the feeling of his skin against mine. "Is that why they call her the Dread Queen?" I ask.

"In a way," Hades says softly. "They call her that not just because in her absence there is winter, but because as the Dark King's wife, she rules the darkness below just as the sun above. She rules _death_ and _chaos_. She enacts curses upon evil men– because though she keeps the order of the seasons, that doesn't mean she keeps the order of those who claim false rule. The same she defies her husband's law, she defies those who act as false Gods."

He lets the story settle, lets the connotations sink in.

And within the next second I say, "I love you," and don't let him react before adding, "I love you and I wish we could _live_."

"Do you mean it?" he asks after a moment, everlasting silence between us before he asks, "Do you mean it even if we die?"

"I do," I whisper, realize the truth to my own words. "You're in my blood whether I want you there or not. You bleed, I bleed. I think that's just the way it is now."

"I love you too," Hades answers, tightens his fingers around mine. "I love you, Kore. I'm just sorry that it happened like this."

"I'm not," I say to him. "I'm not because it's _real_ and it's _ours_ and _they can't have it._"

And when he kisses me, I know that I've been forgiven. I know that there isn't anyone else in the world I'd rather spend my last hours with, if that really is what this time we've been given together has come to be. I know that when he lays me out on our spring bed right here in the darkness, that there isn't any going back this time and I'm okay with that.

More than okay.

* * *

In retrospect, I never thought my first intimate experience with another would be in a dark cave beneath an arena made for killing innocent things, but I doubt Hades thought any different. And I also doubt that either of us thought it would be with someone meant to be our enemy, a tragic story of star crossed lovers who find comfort in each other's embrace when faced with their own demise.

It isn't as fantastical as I thought it would be either, because while I never expected candles and rose petals, I didn't think it could be so…_awkward_ or so out in the open for everyone to hear. But it's ours and not theirs, no matter how much the Capital would claim it to be. This is between Hades and me, no one else; something we have that they can never take from us no matter how hard they try.

At first the kissing is nice, the soft touches and the elated fumbling to take off each other's clothes. But then his fingers get tangled in the knots of my breast bindings, and I can't get his leggings past his knees, and we end up in a laughing heap on our spring bed, kissing each other softly and shivering with nerves.

"Um, Hades…" I say when we finally are naked, nestled against each other with him between my open thighs, blush tinging my skin to heat.

"Yeah?" he asks, shifting so his hip nudges against my thigh, bony where I am naturally soft and I flush even more at what I have to say.

"That's not, um…_wrong entrance_," I say, reach down embarrassingly between us to touch his erection and move it to the right place.

He bucks into my hand instinctively despite his obvious chagrin, gives a nervous chuckle and says, "Sorry," which tapers off into a groan as I tug at him. "Where– do you…"

"There," I say, lift my hips up so he slides into me the right way, wince when everything starts to pull and stretch. "I– um…"

"Should I stay still?" he asks, rapid pants of breath because I know from basic knowledge that while it's going to be uncomfortable for me at first, it feels good for him.

"No," I say, decide it's just best to get this over with. "No, you can move."

He does then, inexperienced hips that slide against my own as he moves as deep as he can go. "Better?" he asks.

My face scrunches up– feels like I'm being split open because Hades' having long limbs extends to every part of him and I'm considerably small in comparison, a tricky fit. "Not– not really."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, tries to stay unmoving but his thighs are shaking, just like his arms bracketed on either side of my head.

"Don't apologize," I whisper. "I– keep goin'."

It gets better after a bit, our bodies finding a natural kind of rhythm with one another. We stifle the sounds by kissing at skin, hot open mouths panting against each other, a steady thrum. Sometimes our noses clack together awkwardly, and when a thrust of his feels particularly good I split his skin open with my teeth. But despite its awkwardness, the way we make love is sweet. It's timid and hopeful and real, and something I know I'll die happy about.

He ends up going over the edge way before I do, muttered curses as he releases hot and wet inside of me. Right away he apologizes, a steady cadence of '_sorry_' because I couldn't experience the pleasure with him and because it's messy everywhere and I'm left flush on our spring bed. I giggle at him, smooth sweaty tendrils of hair away from his forehead and kiss his swollen mouth reassuringly.

"It was perfect," I say to him, because it was. "Don't ever apologize."

"Still," he says, face buried in my neck. "I want you to feel good too."

"I do feel good," I say. "I'm happy it was with you, Hades."

Biting his lip, he looks up at me then, eyes shining in the darkness. "I just…can I try…"

"Oh," I say when his fingers slip against sensitive flesh, and "_oh_," when the friction becomes more persistent. "_Okay_."

I break minutes later around his fingers, cry my release into his chest in little whimpers. It feels like lightning down to my toes, hot coils in my lower belly and this sense of relief I haven't had since the moment my name was drawn at altar.

Afterwards I'm so blissed out I can't bring myself to think about any kind of worry for the Games above or the Capital watching beyond, just lay there in Hades' arms and hum dreamily.

"If we weren't here– if we'd met somewhere else– I'd ask you to marry me," he says, fingers combing through my hair absently.

"We never would've met had we not come here," I say, turn in his embrace and prop myself up against his chest. "I'm not going to lie and say I'm ready to die, Hades. But if there is one thing I don't regret about being picked for these Games, it's that they led me to you."

He smiles, a sad kind of smile that means everything. "Hephaestus was right," he says, braces his hands against the side of my face so he can look at me, really look at me the way no one else has ever been able to. "You are Persephone. You are the Dread Queen."

"Only if you're my King," I say, trace the lines of his face in ginger memory. "You may not be dark like in the stories, but you're what I want. You _are_ my change, Hades. You've made me unafraid."

"Nah," he says, crooked smirk and laughing chest that shakes me. "You did that yourself. _You_ mended your wings, Kore. I just helped."

Smiling, I tuck my head against his chest again, lay in his embrace until the morning when the Games choose break our little place of solace to pieces.


	23. The Grief Shows

**A/N:** Hey guys I know it took me forever to update but life and writer's block are a bitch. Anyways this is shittily edited so bear with me I just really wanted to try and get posting again before I have to head off to college. And plus I missed Artemis.

* * *

"Where did you get your scar?"

"This one?" he asks, running a finger from lip to chin.

I nod, brush a piece of hair behind my ear. "It's okay if you don't wanna tell me though." I tuck my chin into his chest, kiss the exposed skin. "They've kinda already heard enough, I guess." I tilt my head towards the walls, silence in the darkness though he and I both know the '_they_' I'm referring to.

He shakes his head, one arm behind it on our spring bed. "It's okay. Figure if I'm gonna die here there's no use hiding it."

And I want to say to him '_Don't talk like that_' but we both know it'd be a useless endeavor so instead I ask, "What happened?"

"My dad's not really a good guy," he says, catches my eye here in the dark and I see the sadness in Hades I have always seen; the weight on his shoulders. "I was eleven when this happened- I went out to get water from the well by our house and I accident'ly dropped the bucket comin' in. He got so mad he threw a glass at me and it cut me."

"Oh, Hades," I say, tracing a finger over the scar the way he had before.

"It's okay," he says. "Not the first time somethin' like that's happened, nor was it the last. I'm used to it."

"That doesn't mean you deserve it," I say, stretch my leg out against his and lean in to try and hug him, even though laying down makes it a little awkward. "You should win these Games," I say without thinking. Because to trade one life of violence for another, he deserves better than this. So much better.

He pulls away from my instantly at the comment. "No, Kore."

I let my mouth settle in a line, wanting to explain before he gets mad at me. "Hestia," I say, can't say more than that for a moment, and he nods, he_ gets_ it that I still will help him make her win. "But, I just mean...you're so good Hades."

"I'm not a favorite," he says. "No one else wants me ta win."

And that's when I lean in conspiratorially, because how can't I? "Fuck them," I whisper, halfway not caring if the Capital hears me. "I'd want you to win."

Hades smiles, turns to kiss me with warmth. "I think that's all that matters then," he says.

I laugh, kiss him back for all I'm worth.

After we...finished, last night, both of us slept for long hours, woke up for a few stray kisses and close touches before falling back asleep again. But somehow our bodies have attuned to the fake clock of this arena and we are awake again at dawn, lying here gloriously naked and entangled on our spring bed in the comfort of darkness. We've been talking for an hour or two, just little things.

"I love you," he says into his kisses, a warm grin still at the edges of his mouth.

"So you've said," I tease, squeal when he gives a playful growl at my answer and rolls me beneath him completely. He starts kissing down my neck, sloppy noises as he sucks at the skin and I gasp. "Hades, they'll h_ear_..."

"Let them," he murmurs. "I'm sure they enjoyed the show enough last time for a repeat performance."

I blush, still half appalled with myself for suggesting we do something so private before all of Ellada. "Ug, don't remind me," I say with chagrin.

He chuckles. "As far as I'm concerned, it's just you and me, Kore. They can't have this."

And his words make my embarrassment fleeting. "They can't," I agree, lean up to kiss him harder. He mumbles against my mouth, presses my back down into the spring bed with his weight. And it would be a really, really nice thing if only something _wet_ didn't pool against my skin.

"Hades," I say, move him off of me slowly. "There's..." I drag my hand to the side of our spring bed, into the ground of the cave. "..._Water_."

He sits up all the way now, blinks. I can see his sudden fear even in the darkness.

"Kore, get dressed."

"Hades?"

"Get dressed, Kore."

I don't question him more than that. I reach over to the side to pull on my clothes which are wet and cold and stick to my skin, especially as I tug my leggings on. Luckily my boots are dry- waterproof. The pack isn't far off, my scythe sitting on top of it and its now minimal contents. By the time I strap it on and turn around I find Hades fully dressed, tucking the knife I gave him into the waistband of his leggings.

"They're flooding us out," he says, something we already both knew but didn't want to confirm out loud. "Let's get outta 'ere before it really starts to fill."

And just as he says it the Gamesmakers, suckers for a little bit of irony that they are, send a swell of water rushing from the mouth of the cavern behind us. It's fast and harsh and mocking. I imagine them laughing like Gods in the safety of their simulation room, looking down on us like we are simple toys to play with. We are, to them. They can always get new ones of us if we drown. No big deal.

"Oh you have got to be _kidding_ me!" Hades shouts, grabs my hands and makes a dash for it towards the trap door.

We climb the slope just as waves lick at our heels. Water covers up to my knees within the next moment and it's not cold this time. It's _hot _and the force of it is_ strong_.

"Oh Gods!" I hiss, give a small cry as it burns me even through the fabric of my leggings. "Hades!"

He shoves up to the ceiling above him and the trapdoor gives way, water rising up his shins. And then his hands are on my waist and he's pushing me above ground, instant relief from the flood. It surges higher just as my body hits the grass up top and Hades curses, swaying with the flow of a man-made current.

"Kore, I'm slipping!" he says.

I get my bearings and catch my breath. Dig my toes into the earth and grab his hand, haul him up the rest of the way out of the cavern which is difficult with just one hand. I curse my broken wrist but somehow manage to get him to safety miraculously despite its limits, rushing water beneath as we roll away from the trapdoor in a tight embrace.

And this is the moment where I know our little world all our own has been torn apart; no more stories in the darkness. We are in the arena, fighting to the death once more.

"Fuckers," Hades says once he manages to catch his breath again. "I hate those bastards."

I laugh, stuttering out a breath here and there. "Are you burned too bad?"

"Naw," he says, wiggles his leg next to mine. "I can't feel my dick though." Blinking, I turn to him and he grins brightly at my shock. "Joking."

"Good," I say with a roll of the eyes. "We wouldn't want you to lose that."

"Certainly not," he says. "We've still got use for it."

I accept the kiss he offers then with a snicker, move to stand and pull him up with me. "I think they really wanted us dead."

"They wouldda flooded it when we were otherwise..._incapacitated_ if that were the case," he says, drawing his eyebrows together in thought. "I think they just did all of that for dramatics. Guess they really did enjoy the show, then."

And I hear Prometheus in my head: _love that boy if you want to live_ and I sigh, because, as always, my mentor knows best. "Come on," I say, taking hold of Hades' hand. "Let's get some water and then head for higher ground."

"The mountain?" he asks. "You think that's safe? It might be a death trap if the rest of this place is any indication."

"Maybe Hestia's there," I say. "Maybe she went with your original plan to go there after you lost her?"

And because we have no better bets, he isn't apt to argue.

* * *

We don't find Hestia, not at first.

What we do find, however, is that Artemis' aim is as dead-on as ever.

We're climbing up the face of the Olympus modeled mountain when the attack happens. After filling the canteen with water from the stream, we followed it back to the edge of the mountain, looked up and found the easiest trail on the west. It's a jagged face, but there are firm enough ledges that you can climb with minimal injury if you know how. All of my years of climbing trees when young and playing with Plutus back home come in handy. Hades isn't as skilled and slips a bunch like he did that first night we camped in that tree together.

I keep him righted several times and he gives a shaky laugh of apology. It slows us, but not too much. Only when we stop for breath do I hear the bow string pull.

Hades takes and arrow to the shoulder and there's a sudden tear in my cheek so wide I'm almost positive I could stick my tongue through it and use it as a second mouth for a moment.

Both Hades and I end up laying on the ground after the injuries take. "Maybe if we play dead they'll go away," Hades murmurs, and I grip tight to my scythe.

"Not likely," says a familiar voice, feral sort of lilt as she walks into view. "Should've known it was you two idiots by the way you didn't take cover. And by sparky's gangly limbs."

"You shot us," Hades says then, sits up and looks at the arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

"Only to maim, not to kill," Artemis says, looking dangerous and beautiful as ever. "I'm saving that for Zeus."

"Who?" asks Hades as I sit up, rotating my broken wrist which I landed on wrong and may have re-fractured. There's blood gushing down the side of my face and it stings but I'm so focused on Artemis and how she'll answer, the newly haunted look in her eyes.

"The Demigod from Enas who killed my brother," she says, stance as immobile as stone. "I'm gonna rip his throat out with my teeth."

"Well first could you get this arrow outta my shoulder?" Hades asks, glances to me and his eyes widen. "And get Kore a bandage!"

"Do I look like a nurse?" Artemis asks, shakes her head when we stare up at her and then sighs. "I got a better idea." She puts her fingers to her mouth then, whistles shrill.

From the other edge of the cliff face we sit on comes a small body, dark curls and twinkling eyes. "Hestia," Hades breathes, and his cousin rushes to him with joy.

I look up at Artemis as the two embrace, open my mouth to say something, _anything_, but she beats me to it. "Come on, Kore. Let's get you patched up."

* * *

"I'm sorry about Apollo."

The moment I say it, regret takes over.

Artemis and Hestia have a small camp set up here in the hollows of the mountain. It's quite obvious Apollo used to be here with them too- there's a pallet of leaves and grass that must have been his sleeping place, and it's got a peacock feather lost in the mix, a few broken arrows.

I want to ask what happened, how Hestia ended up with the twins, how Hebe died, how Apollo did too, how they even got here. But I can tell just offering condolences has upset her.

Mouth in a straight line, Artemis says. "Whatever," and finishes covering the wound on my cheek with the medicine from my pack, instant heal into a puckered pink line.

She offered to use some of her own- the stuff that she got from the cornucopia during the Pantheon- but I said that she could save it for now and use the stuff Hades and I have. After she's done using it on me she tosses it to Hestia who's just finished digging the arrow head from Hades' shoulder, seals the wound with the medicine.

And then, just as Artemis watches his skin seal closed, she sighs, lets the grief show. "I'm sorry I shot you guys."

"It's okay," I say.

Hades nods, though I can still see his unease and suspicion in the gesture. Mainly I think he hasn't shoved Artemis off the side of the mountain yet only because she's been taking care of Hestia. That takes away from the fact he doesn't trust her and that she shot him. And I strongly suspect it's also a little because he knows how mad at him I'd be if he killed my friend.

"I thought you were the Demigods again.," Artemis explains, wipes a hand down her dirt-stained face.

"Is that what happened to your brother? They attacked?" Hades asks, and when I throw him a dark glance he shrugs, a kind of '_well what was I supposed to say?_' gesture.

"Yes," Artemis answers him, tired tone. "They came up this way for Gods know what reason. We were scouting and Zeus, he got a hold of Apollo before I could help him."

"We gave him a funeral," Hestia says then. "We made sure he had flowers to go off with, like back home, Hades. I showed the sign of respect. I kissed my hand and held it up, and so did Artemis. I mean, with her own hand, not mine," she blushes.

"That's good," Hades says, pulling his cousin into a soft embrace. "Really good."

"Bet those Capital pricks hated us for it," Artemis smirks, but there is no humor in her expression. There is only malice and vengeance and loss. "I hope they all choke on his blood."

And when I look at her, I know that Atlas is cursing and throwing in the towel back home. Because Artemis no longer wants to win. I knew it all along, that the moment one twin left the other was sure to follow. But that doesn't mean she isn't still fighting for now, and as I glance to Hestia all curled and innocent in Hades' lap, so happy to have her family back, I know that what I ask Artemis next is a reasonable request.

"She could win," I whisper, touch Artemis on the shoulder softly. It seems to shock her from all her grief, the familiar feel of me. She blinks startled eyes, follows my line of sight to a giggling Hestia as Hades tickles at her ribs. "She's good."

Artemis is silent a moment before she nods. "I couldn't save Hebe or my brother," she says. "But we can save her."

"I think Apollo would be proud," I say.

She smiles at me sadly. "He wouldn't be anything, Kore. He's dead."

I look back at her and want to weep. "But are you in?"

"On one condition," she says.

"What's that?"

"I get to kill Zeus," she answers. "He's mine."

"Deal," I say, and when we shake on it, I know it's a pact that will be sealed in blood.


End file.
